


The Other Side

by peacelovesmile



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Drug Use, Fire after the burn, Gay Sex, M/M, Original Character(s), Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-16
Updated: 2017-11-21
Packaged: 2018-08-22 18:30:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 20,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8295758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peacelovesmile/pseuds/peacelovesmile
Summary: Jesse Pinkman never thought he'd fall in-love with his mysterious, and male, duplex neighbor. Then again, he never thought he'd be cooking meth with his ex-teacher either, and look at him now.





	1. Chapter I

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! First off, I know I'm super late to the Breaking Bad party, but I'm here now and I'm loving it, bitches! 
> 
> Anyways, as I was watching season 2 and the heart wrenching romance between Jesse and Jane my warped slash mind thought, "Yep, I could make this gay." This story mirrors the one on the show, with some direct dialogue (mostly in the first chapters), so expect spoilers, etc. in case you are even more late to the series than I was. I wanted to play with Jesse's vulnerability and fragility, and see what I could create with a male love interest.
> 
> And please, I'm incredibly open to feedback! The rating will probably change as I write. This is unbeata'd. Enjoy, hopefully, and thanks for reading! 
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing!

Jesse yawned. It was 4 in the afternoon, and he felt tired. He felt like his long adrenaline high finally ended, and after that shit (literally and figuratively) with Clovis, getting an apartment was next on his list of priorities. Finding some quality green to smoke coming in a close second; because homeboy wanted to relax. And forget. God, how Jesse wanted to float away and forget everything. He rubbed his eyes, and reached for a cigarette. Forget his parents, his so-called job, and especially a certain drug lord named Tuco Salamanca. And the whole country of Mexico. Yeah, Mexico can go, too. 

"Soon." He gave himself a mental pep-talk, placing the stick in his mouth. "Soon you can roast and sleep." Then he shuddered slightly despite the early evening haze. His nightmares were becoming the most reliable companion he'd ever had. 

Flicking his lighter on and bringing it to his cig, Jesses turned toward the duplex and leaned against his car. He was waiting for the landlord to show him this apartment. He had seen five other places, and quickly realized getting an apartment with no credit and no legal employer was going to be a challenge. He always thought of himself as a charming dude, however, landlords in the ABQ so far seemed to be immune. Plus that studio that reeked like cat piss totally sucked. Jesse thought he has at least some standards. 

Suddenly, a car pulled up behind his. A man with sunglasses on and a black hoodie stepped out of the car. Immediately, Jesses went tense. This dude was heading straight for him, and he is at least 4 inches taller than him. He pushed away from the car, his eyes widening comically, fear and paranoia hitting him faster and harder than Mr. White's perfect product. His pulse thundering in his system. Who was this asshole? One of Tuco's boys coming for revenge? This man was striding quickly towards Jesse, and he took a step back, clenched his fist in his pocket. He might get one good hit before he could run around his car and- 

"Are you the guy who called about the place?" 

Jesse nods dumbly, swallows the constricting fear in his body, fists slowly uncurling. 

"Yeah, man. Uh-" He awkwardly drops his cigarette, rubs it out with his shoe. "Hey." 

"I'm James. Let's go." 

James turns towards the duplex, taking off his shades and pulling down his hood. Jesse follows and takes a deep breath. Replays his mental pep-talk and runs his fingers through his hair, head shaking slightly at his own inner turmoil. 

As Jesse steps through the front doors, he immediately realizes this is the nicest place he has seen, by far. The space is so nice, the half-wall to the kitchen is awesome, and the bedroom and bathroom are decent sizes. No odd smells. 

As they walk back into the main room, Jesse finally speaks. 

"Well James, I gotta say, this place is awesome." 

Slightly unamused, James replies, "Really? Does it inspire awe?" 

"No. I mean, you know, it's great." Jesse falters. A feeling in the middle of his chest motivates him to keep talking. "I had an entire house before, detached and all but I was just tired of the lawn care, upkeep and whatnot." He leans against the kitchen counter, facing outwards towards James. He's trying to seem cool and unaffected, yet impressive. He thinks it's working, his charm is finally working. 

"Well," says James, moving closer to the counter. His blue eyes standing out sharply compared to his black hair and attire. 

"The blinds are new. Just been painted. Utilities are included." 

"Jesus." Jesse whispers, feeling as if the stakes just got higher. "You got cable?" 

"Already wired. Just call to activate." 

Stakes, raised. 

"I'm a fan of the hardwood." 

James nods along, and adds, "Yeah. So, are you interested?" 

"Definitely!" Jesses answers, reigns himself in with a bitten bottom lip, "Definitely, yeah." 

James nods again, "And you're good with the NP, NS rules, yeah?" 

"Sorry, what?" 

"In the ad." James gives him almost critical look. "No pets, no smoking. You wanna smoke, you gotta do it outside, like the rest of us degenerates." He grins, Jesse grins. 

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, no. No worries. It's cool." 

"Alright, man." He pulls out the papers, "I need all the usual stuff, W-2 or recent pay stub; current employer, former address, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. And if it all checks out, I'll call." 

Jesse's face falls as he feels his hope slowly melting away.

"Yeah. Look, the thing is I can't-" 

James groans loudly. "Are you fucking serious, dude?" 

"I'm just currently between situations!" Jesse tries to explain. 

Jesse feels the man's eyes giving him a once over, judging him silently. His skin crawls. Great, another fucking stuck-up asshole who thinks he's just some degenerate, like that's all he is, like he's not also an artist, and a big brother, and someone who gives change to the Salvation Army Santa outside the Smith's Price Rite. 

"Then I'm currently not renting." James widens his stance, crosses his arms across his broad chest. 

"Look, look, I got the money and I'm totally good for it for, like, ever. Come on, yo, can you please, please just help a brother out?" Jesse feels the desperation kicking in, he runs his fingers through his hair, looking up pleadingly at James. 

"Yo, my dad's not really a make-exceptions kind of guy." 

"Your dad?" 

"He owns the place, and I manage it. Look," James unfolds his arms, "I need all this shit, or else you can run your game somewhere else." 

In a risk, Jesse plays the honesty card, "Dude, I got nowhere else to go. This is it. And I got no game, all right? I just need a chance. Look, my folks, they kicked me out. I'm a disappointment, apparently. Didn't meet their expectations again. So you know, now I'm persona non gratis or whatever. But you know what? I'm a good person and I work hard. I will pay you every month and I will pay you on time. I will not mess this up, okay? I swear." Jesse bites back saying another please while the silence grows. 

"Rent just went up, another hundred a month." James finally says. 

"Yes." Jesse's eyes are lit up. "Hey, you rock. Thank you, thank you." Relief washes over Jesse right now that's like exhaling a first hit. 

James still seems unimpressed, but says, "Just don't be a fucking asshole, dude, okay?"

"Gotcha." Jesse's almost willing to agree to anything at this point. He can be cordial as fuck if that's what it takes. Dropping "Sirs" and opening doors all over the place. 

"By the way, I live next door." 

"Really?" Jesse feels a cloud in his sunny sky, but a small one. 

"Yeah. And if you blow this, you're gone. I won't even think twice to put your ass out in the dumpster." 

Jesse blinks, and takes on a serious tone. "Yeah, man. I get it." 

"Alright, I'll fill in the blanks, just sign your name. What is your name, again?" 

"It's Jesse." 

A pause. James raises his eyebrows. 

"Jesse Jackson." 

"Right. Okay Jesse 'Jackson', welcome to the duplex." 

James offers his hand, and Jesse shakes it across the wall. He feels so warm, even though this uptight guy James lives next door, he still feels like jumping around like Christmas morning or after getting Halloween candy. He even rushes to open the door to let James out first. He looks back at Jesse, and gives him a polite, amused smile as he exits. 

As soon as the door closes, Jesse pumps his fists in the air, and let's out an relieved, "Yeah, bitch! Finally!" 

Jesse looks around his empty space, smiling, almost tearful at how good it feels to have a place to live after the horror in blue. As he begins to collect his meager belongings to bring inside, and he feels the clawing anxiety and hopelessness that had settled behind his eyes and between his shoulder blades finally, slightly, easing.


	2. Chapter II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made some edits and additions!

The knuckles of Jesse's hands were bright white as he gripped the steering wheel. His eyes kept skipping from the road to the speedometer, to the road, to the rearview mirror. The other drivers on the road buzzing past him. He didn't want to get pulled over, to draw any attention to himself. He turned up his music as loud as he dared. The sound of the ATM falling and crushing Spooge's head replaying on an endless loop. He scratched at his ears, unable to get the shriek of Spooge's Lady free from echoing in his mind. The headlights of each passing car reminding him of the kid's glassy eyes as he asked for something to eat. Christ, he even could smell the lingering scent of being stuck there all day on his clothing. The shadow of his new apartment was slowly coming into focus, and still Jesse felt closer and closer to vomiting. 

Thunk, blood, the smell – oh, god, the smell- he screeched to a stop at the curb, barely missing driving up on the lawn, and jumped out of his car. Jesse ran up the sidewalk and had to stop half-way, dry heaving into the grass. Not that he had really eaten anything that day, sitting in the disgusting house. Jesus, his thoughts returned to that poor kid, hoping he's okay now. Safer, at least. 

He absently stumbles through the front door. Heading to the kitchen, he grabs the box of Capt'n Crunch, pretty much the only food he bought so far, grabs his bong and the weed he got from Badger, and sets out to smoke, eat, and sleep for-fucking-ever. A pattern he has been noticing his life taking, with ever increasing amounts of stress. He sent a text to Badger, bring more green. His dark blue apartment only lit up periodically by the flame of his lighter and the dim light of the stove oven, slowly faded to yellow from the rising sun as Jesse finally let exhaustion win over the trauma in his brain. 

The next morning- afternoon?- Jesse wakes up and his head is pounding. He groans, covers his head with his pillow to try to block it out. It won't go away. He groans deep and long with the realization of who waits for him on the other side. 

He cracks open the door, already irritated beyond belief, "Come on in... Dad." 

Jesse moves to the side to let Mr. White into his place. He sees James, sheepishly runs his hands through his hair as he acknowledges him. 

"You okay?" 

He nods, "Yeah." 

Jesse shuts the door and realizes; no, he's not okay. Why is the only one to ask him that a near stranger? Before he can think too long, Mr. White starts his lecture, and he's consumed with playing defense of his actions. 

Later, when his apartment has faded to orange with the afternoon sun, Mr. White had finally stopped berating him, and left. Jesse takes a breath and feels his stomach give a loud grumble. Almost to be immediately followed by a lurch of nausea. 

"Fucking occupational hazard, my ass..." He mumbles. He searches around for his phone, collects his smoking paraphernalia, and sits down to order the largest pizza he can manage, which turns out to be a large pepperoni, an order of cheesy bread sticks, and a 2-Liter of Mountain Dew.  
When it arrives, Jesse imagines the smell from the delivery driver's car as he's walking up the sidewalk. Salivating, he hands him a $50 as soon as the pizza boy opens the door, tells him to keep the change. 

Jesse sets the box down and puts that pizza to rest. Piece after piece he almost doesn’t taste it, a few days of not really eating and thinking too much about splattered brains has left him ravenous. Stomach bloated, he leans over his bong and takes a large toke, the calm settling in his bones like ice melting. Another hit, and another, Jesse smokes up until his lungs are as full as his stomach. 

Lazy smile on his face, Jesse moves to go outside to smoke a cigarette. He feels better than he has in days, and seeing the stars would be like the cherry on top. He gets outside, leans up against the wall and lights his cig. The stars have been a comforting blanket for him since living with his Aunt. She would take him out into her big yard, with a cup of hot chocolate and tell him stories about the constellations. He breathes in deep, relaxing breaths. He tilts his head back and just looks, floating away with Andromeda and Pegasus, the nostalgia making him lightheaded.  
Jesse is almost done with his cigarette, gazing up at the stars when he hears, 

"Hey." 

If he wasn't so high, he probably would have freaked out, he hadn't noticed James at all. 

"Oh, uh, hey James. 'Sup?" 

James takes a drag off his own cigarette, eyeing him. 

"You into astrology or some shit? You've been out here staring at the sky for like, 15 minutes." 

"No, nah man, I just, like, love looking at the stars. My Aunt, she used to make me go out with her when she... she knew them all, though." 

Jesse looks down at his cigarette, softly glowing in the night, suddenly morose and lonely thoughts now swirling around him. He takes another drag, blows the smoke away. 

"Sorry about my, uh, that asshole earlier. Dude can't take a hint sometimes." 

Jesse glances at James, and he rubs at the back of his head. He thinks that must be where he carries his guilt, because he's always trying to buff it out. 

James smiles then, a large genuine smile that shows off his teeth in the moonlight. It's contagious, and Jesse finds himself smiling back. 

"Don't worry about it, Jesse. My Dad's a right old asshole, too." He puts out his cherry in an ashtray on the ledge, and moves to go inside. 

Before he could think, before the ghost of his Aunt disappears and before he could let the nightmares haunt him again, Jesse yells, 

"Wait!" 

James glances over at Jesse, baffled. 

"You, uh, want some pizza? I got a lot extra, and cheesy bread, too." 

Jesse wrings his hands together a little, stuffs them in his pockets, suddenly nervous. James is constantly cool and collected. Jesse wonders if he comes across as a total spazz, and why that concerns him when it comes to his neighbor. 

James kind of looks at him warily, deciding his move. 

"Okay, sure." He shrugs. 

Jesse leads him inside, and almost instantly regrets this idea. He has no where to sit, no plates, and he realizes a little too late that he left his pot out.  
James walks in to the living room and turns around to look at him, surprised and irritated. 

"Ah, shit." Jesse winces, guilty again. "Look, okay I get it. I can be out tomorrow, uh, like in the afternoon." He moves to clean up a bit, he bends and grabs a crumpled napkin from the floor. 

"Jesse," James sighs, gently lifts him up and holds onto his upper arm. "Look, if you deal with that guy all the time, I get it, I really do. I have no idea what your job is but I could guess it's stressful by looking at you. But I'm putting my neck out here for you, dude. At least do it outside or get one of those filters, okay?" 

Jesse's mouth hangs open. He is astounded that at least one thing in his life is going well. He puts it in his mind to make it up to James, somehow, someway, and soon. 

He recovers from shock, and says, 

"I will, yo, like I'll get 10 filters. You have no idea – my stomach – Christ, thank you. Thank you." 

James' blue eyes shine in the street light from the windows, straight and deep into Jesse. He walks out of the living room then, making his way in the dark. 

"Wait, uh, don't you want some?" Jesse scrambles, slowly following him through the bedroom to the backdoor. 

"Does it smell? I could open a window, hell I'll go by a fan from Wal-Mart right now!" 

But it's too late, James had already gone into his apartment, and left Jesse abandoned standing in the doorway. 

"Fuck." He mutters, as his closes the back door. His bi-polar life weighing heavy on his shoulders as he puts his head to the bedroom wall. Is having a friend so much to ask? 

Abruptly, the door opens again, and there's James. 

"You should really lock that, anyone could just come in." 

He strolls past, grinning and carrying a set of plates and cups. For the second time in too short a period, Jesse's mouth hangs open. He recovers quickly, though, and follows James into the living room again. 

"Yeah, wouldn't want any pesky neighbors or anything coming in, bringing me more cutlery." 

Mumbling around a piece of pizza, James shoots back, 

"You would be so lucky." 

Jesse smiles softly, whispering more to himself, "Yeah." 

He sits down next to James and slowly munches another slice, the silence that's settled is comfortable. 

James takes a gulp of Mountain Dew straight from the bottle, and passes it to Jesse. He takes his own sip and gives it back. 

"So what about your Aunt? She seems, like, nicer." 

And Jesse tells him about his Aunt, tells James everything about her and her house. Something in the way James looks at him, really looks at Jesse like he's worth looking at, worth listening to. James put a crack in the bravado that's been keeping his pain inside himself this whole time. Jesse thinks before, when he had eaten and was high and looking at the stars, he wasn't really relaxed, wasn't really at ease. Sitting here, with James listening to him, and listening to James; now it's real. 

They pass the 2-liter back and forth until it's empty, and the sky finally glows orange with the sun once again.


	3. Chapter III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please return to Chapter II and re-read, as I made some edits and additions. Thank you, enjoy :)

Jesse squints in the daylight as he exits his front door. James is sitting on the rail, indifferent and submerged in his work. 

"Hey." 

"You left your cave." James says, head down and focused. "Haven't seen you since pizza night." 

A little chagrined, Jesse admits, "Yeah, I was... I'm missing my TV. Thought maybe I'd head over to CostCo, you know, snag myself a big-ass wide-screen." 

Jesse mimes the expanse the TV will take, but James doesn't look up. He continues what he is doing, and a silence begins to stretch between them like a river. Suddenly feeling anxious, Jesse moves over to where James is sitting, peering over his shoulder at the sketch book to look at what's gotten his attention. 

"What are you drawing?" 

James tilts the pad to show him, his arm muscles moving under his black t-shirt. 

"Damn, that's good!" He's impressed, a bit envious, intimidated even. The drawing is an intricate angel, all wings and soft shading. All contained and clean, like a tattoo he thinks. So Jesse suggests, "That'd make a hell of a tat." 

"That's the plan." Says James, grinning slightly, and Jesse wonders why conversation today is like pulling teeth. With James it's either easy or it's hard; and maybe one day it will all be easy. 

Jesse is a little surprised nonetheless, "Really?" 

"Yeah. I work part-time over at ABQ Ink." James' pencil is now crosshatching around the boarder, seemingly laying out the final details.

"Right on," Jesse says, then adds with more conviction, like he really wants James to know, "You're a really good drawer." 

He stares at the picture for a moment, lost in some memories of simpler times when he could sketch after school and sneak snacks to his room to eat straight from the bag. 

"I used to do a little of that." He admits softly, a cloud of melancholy slowly hovering over his esteem. 

James doesn't notice Jesse's change in mood as he puts his pencil down to look at him for the first time since he walked outside. 

"You used to be a drawer, too, huh? What happened?" James' eyes land on Jesse now, soft and inquisitive. In that moment, Jesse wants to tell him everything. All his ideas, sketches, how he used to get Cheeto's all over his papers and carpet, making his Mom so pissed. The comic ideas he had, how his parents never liked his drawings, why he stopped because he definitely wasn't good enough. But being outside, in the day and out of his dark cocoon, Jesse feels weak. So instead he says, 

"Uh, you know, just..." He shrugs, "So, wait. Tell me something." He looks James over once, "What kind of tattoo artist doesn’t have any tats?" 

"You just can't see them." Says James, a now sly smile on his face. 

Jesse raises his eyebrows. A loud motorcycle roar from down the street silences anything he was going to say as a gnarly looking guy rides past the duplex. Jesse and James both look at him wearily. The guy looks at them, then looks again. Jesse's skin pricks with sweat, collecting under his beanie and armpits.

"Hey man!" He yells and points, "You're Pinkman." 

Jesse pushes away from the wall he was leaning on, hackles raised. He starts breathing a little harder. James looks at him suspiciously, but Jesse doesn't really notice. He's focused on debating if he should run or get his gun or just pray to be swallowed by the Earth. 

"You're the man!" He points to Jesse, "Everybody's been talking about you. Yeah. Right on, man. Keep it real!"

Jesse nods stiffy and points to him. As the grumble fades, Jesse runs his hands over his blushing, sweating face. 

"Pinkman, huh?" James asks, now returning to his sketchpad. 

"Yeah." Jesse concedes. 

"Thought your name was 'Jackson'." James prods, sparing a glance up at Jesse, not really surprised but almost enjoying teasing him a little. Jesse however feels mortified, like he's got one more strike before he's officially out. Hell, James might even just kick him out of the game all together. Red card him, or some shit. So Jesse says nothing, and wanders away quickly. James frowns a little as he watches him leave. 

 

Later in the evening, after his shift at the tattoo parlor, James is relaxing on he back steps with a cigarette. He hears Jesse inside scrambling around, only to come outside a moment later. Jesse pretends like he doesn’t know James is there, and James lets him. How very high school, James thinks, but smiles into his next drag anyways. 

Trying to breathe normally, Jesse says, "Oh, hey." He pulls out his out pack as he leans against the wall. 

"Hey, Jesse." Another pull. 

"So, listen. Uh, my name's not really Jesse Jackson." He admits, thankful the evening sunlight doesn't show his redden cheeks. "It's Jesse Pinkman." He fumbles for a moment trying to light up. James looks at him now. 

"And, uh," He says between the cig in his teeth, "That guy you met? He wasn't really my dad." God, Jesse feels like a dick. Strike three, you're out! He thinks. 

Giving up the pretense of his cigarette, Jesse fully turns towards James now, "Look, you're not gonna kick me out, are you? Because I actually really like it here." He won't beg, he thinks, he won't beg but he'll try his damnedest to be contrite. 

James finished his cigarette slowly as he watches Jesse. James knew from almost the beginning that he would let Jesse stay. Their initial commonality of shit parents being his reasoning, but the list continues to grow. Jesse looks small on the other porch, scared almost and James finally says,   
"I won't make it my business what you do, so long as you don't do it here. You can stay, Jesse." He gets up to go inside, and in a moment of Deja-vu, Jesse stops him. 

"Hey, I got this kick-ass new flat-screen. Wanna see? It's got that thing where the blacks are, like, you know, really, really, really black." Jesse rambles nervously, "And the Dolby six-point-whatever. So it'll really rock the house. But I'll, you know. I'll keep it way down, of course." He rubs the back of his head again, looking at James a bit imploringly. Jesse wants to be friends, he needs someone desperately that's not involved in the shit storm surrounding Mr. White. 

James laughs happily to himself, a shares a personal inside-joke with himself. But he's amused by Jesse's antics now. "Sure, yeah." He says, hopping over to Jesse's side of the duplex. Jesse stuffs his unlit cigarette back in his pack and opens the door for James. Together they go inside, and sit on the lawn chairs in front of the screen. Jesse turns on the TV, praying it will be hooked up, waiting for the blue to turn the blackest black. They sit for a few minutes, and as the silence grows Jesse gets more anxious. 

"I don't know what's taking so long," He groans, the yellow ellipsis taunting him from the screen, "Come on, come on!" His leg starts bouncing up and down. 

James looks over at him, at his bouncing leg, his tense face, the finger that Jesse is gnawing nervously on, and takes a risk. 

"Hey," he says softly, and lays his hand on Jesse's knee. Shocked, Jesse stops and looks over at him. 

Finger still in his mouth, Jesse meets his eyes and says, "Huh?" The weight of James' hand warm and unfamiliar on his leg. 

"I lied about the cable hook-up, there is none to this apartment." 

Jesse looks at him bewildered, then suddenly he laughs. "I've been sitting here for hours, yo, and this whole time you've just been punkin' me?" 

James lets a slow smile wash over his face, "Yeah. Been actually meaning to do it for months, but there was an old couple who used to live here. They didn't care about it, so it just hasn't gotten done." He gives Jesse's leg an apologetic stroke. Jesse had forgotten James put his hand there, and suddenly he feels awkward, like palms are sweaty, voice-cracking, panicky, don't-look-at-my-acne, kind of way. Luckily James provides the answer when he removes his hand. 

"I do, however, have the satellite hooked up in my place. I don't have a swag TV, but if you can handle it, you can come over." 

"Yeah, okay." 

Jesse nods as he slips out of the chair. As they go, Jesse feels a kind of nervous excitement about him; like he doesn't quite know what he's getting himself into, but can't wait to see what it is, and follows James next door.


	4. Chapter IV

Jesse is quiet as James lets him into the backdoor on his side of the duplex. He glances around, very curious as to what it's like in James' world, so close to his own yet vastly different. Jesse marvels at a large psychedelic painting of a man floating in the stars as they rush through James' room into the living room. James' apartment is filled with comfortable looking, mix-n-match furniture, and artwork in various states of completion. His kitchen is clean, though, with little clutter. Jesse feels a sense of calm being here, like he hadn't felt since his Aunt died; a type of comfort you get from knowing that someone lives, breathes, and creates in the space that he is sharing. 

"Sick painting, man." Jesse points back to James' room with his thumb. "You do that?" 

"Yeah," James shrugs, runs his hand through his shaggy dark hair, "A few years ago. Anyways, listen, I've got some beers and a frozen lasagna if you're interested?" 

Jess nods, "Yeah, sounds great. You got any bread? I can make garlic bread. I mean, my Aunt taught me, hers is way better, but like, I know the recipe." 

"Shit, no. I got garlic salt, I think. But, hey, run over to Murphy's and get a loaf. I'll turn on the oven." 

Jesse grins, "Hell yeah." And runs out the door to go to the gas station down the road. 

He returns 15 minutes later with not only bread, but candy, popcorn, and some chocolate ice cream. "I fucking love chocolate ice cream." He explains, sliding it in James' freezer for later. "Yo, you got tin foil, right?" 

James laughs, and nods, pulling it out of a drawer for Jesse. 

"Thanks." 

"My pleasure." James says, looking fondly at Jesse. "I was going to say 'Make yourself at home', but, well..." He smirks again, Jesse looks bashful. "I'll get the TV set up." He says, patting Jesse softly on the shoulder before he goes to sit on the couch a few feet away. 

Jesse saunters over a while later, food cooking in the oven. He plops down next to James on the couch, spreading his arms across the back. 

"So, what can this badass satellite I've heard so much about really do?" 

"Well," James smirks, "There's like 700 channels in ten different languages. What do you want?" 

Jesse shrugs, "What do you want, man?" 

James looks over suddenly at Jesse. He expression scrutinizing, curious. His eyes moving across Jesse's slouched frame, to his eyes. 

"What?" Jesse asks, confused, self-conscious. 

James just looks away, and turns on the television. He starts scrolling through the movie channels, clicking past rom-coms and action movies, every once and awhile asking for input from Jesse. 

"Nah, man, I'm um, not really into guns and shit." Jesse explains. 

As they land on the next channel, the boys see Elijah Wood running through the dark woods, jumping onto a raft in a river. James leaves the channel on for a little longer than the others as the scene changes. 

"Lord of the Rings?" James asks. 

Jesse nods, eyes already transfixed to the screen. James smiles. 

The sound of the oven timer pulls James to his feet awhile later. He walks to the kitchen and begins to pull plates from his cabinets, and Jesse takes the opportunity to look at him from the couch. James' black tank top is stretched tight across his back, and a sliver of it is revealed when he got the dishes. Jesse sees swirls of black ink peeking out by his shoulders, and wonders what they lead to. James serves up the steaming lasagna high on the plates and garlic bread, too, and turns around. Jesse looks away just in time, quickly watching the movie again. James brings the food over to the table and sets it down in front of Jesse's place. 

"I gotta tip you?" Jesse jokes, looking up at James.

"Shit yeah. You see how hard I worked for you?" He jokes. "Hold tight, I'll get some beers, too." 

Jesse leans over the plate and inhales deeply. The scent of Italian food engulfing his senses that isn't pizza is welcomed, and he feels comforted by it's embrace. 

Two opened bottles join the plates on the table, and James sits down next to Jesse, his thigh touching his. 

"Thanks, man. Can't remember the last time I had some real food." Jesse says, picking up his fork and piling a large amount into his mouth. 

"You think this is real food?" James asks, eye brows raised.

"Uh, well," Jesse rubs the back of his head. "I just mean, I'm used to shitty Mexican food or Pollos Hermanos." 

James gives Jesse a mockingly offended look and says, "One day, poor child, I'll give you real food. We'll go to an actual restaurant." 

Jesse scoffs, unsure of how to respond, so he doesn't and turns back to the movie.

The apartment slowly changes from day to night, and the boys sit together on the sofa. The Fellowship is making their way through Middle Earth, and feet, empty plates, and beer bottles cover the coffee table. Jesse feels loose and relaxed, and so relieved. His heart feels constricted suddenly, watching Sam and Frodo looking to Mount Doom, knowing that when the movie ends this will end, and he'll go back to his stark and cold apartment, and the cancerous world of Mr. White. He doesn't say anything as the movie's credits start filling the screen, and James picks up their plates and heads for the kitchen. Jesse sighs. He doesn't want to be a dick, but he wants so badly to stay. He doesn’t even have a bed yet. He resolves himself to get up, thinking about what he'll say to James. He stands, as James returns to the living room. 

"Twin Towers is starting now. Don't tell me you were leaving." He says, handing him a spoon. 

Jess feels so relieved. Trying to remain aloof, he says, "Just don't hog the chocolate. I'm serious, dude." And grabs the spoon to share the carton with James. 

"Hey, James?" 

"Yeah?" He responds, slowly licking his spoon as he looks Jesse in the eye. Jesse blushes, although he's not sure why, and as he hastily pulls out a bag from his pocket and asks,

"You mind if I toke in here?" 

James rolls his eyes, "You're a bad influence. Yeah, lemme get the air filter." 

As he does, Jesse pulls out a joint and his lighter. James comes back with the filter just as Jesse is lighting up and taking his first drag. As he's exhaling, James takes it from his fingers and steals his own puff. Jesse looks over at him, eyes wide in surprise. 

"What?" James laughs, "Why do you think I have the air filter in the first place, dip shit." 

"Asshole." Jesse counters, no malice to be heard, and takes the joint back from James.

The boys grow quiet as they finish the joint and eat the ice cream. They slouch together and continue to watch the movie unfold. Suddenly James asks, around a mouthful of ice cream, "So, what character do you like the most?" 

Jesse shrugs, movements slowed, avoiding answering by shoveling a large scoop into his mouth. 

"Oh, come on." James says, nudging Jesse with his elbow, "I know you've seen these movies before, it's obvious." James whispers into Jesse's ear, shit eating grin on his face. Jesse tenses and fights a shiver at the foreign and unexpected feeling of warm breath washing over him, but shrugs again, trying to hide his reaction. 

"I don't know." He eludes, "I guess Aragorn is badass. Or Gandalf, he'd make a wicked grandpa." 

James laughs, leans away and rolls his eyes. Jesse shrugs again, blushing slightly, desperately trying to not come across as nerdy. He's a tough street thug with a murder reputation, after all, not a Lord of the Rings geek. 

"I always thought Sam was the underappreciated hero of the movies." James says, softly, looking into the ice cream carton. "He stands by Frodo through thick and thin, hell, he is the reason Frodo made it as far as he did and destroyed the ring in the end. Everyone talks about how Legolas shoots orcs with Gimli and Aragorn becomes king, or when Eowyn kills the Nazgul. But Sam, through it all, just helps the most important person in all of Middle Earth. He's the hardest working person that no one ever sees." 

Jesse stares at James while he's speaking, awe struck, feeling like James is talking about him even though he knows he's not. If only James knew, Jesse thinks, if only he knew then he would finally be appreciated. God knows Mr. White would never talk like that. But Jesse doesn't want to pull James into that shit, so he swallows loudly and says,

"Yeah, that is badass. I never thought about him that way." 

James smiles and picks up his beer bottle, "To Samwise Gamgee!" He says, and takes a drink. 

"To Sam." Says Jesse quietly, drinking a small sip and stealing a glance at the way James looks with his head tipped back and liquid pouring down his throat. With a smile warm and heavy on his face, they continue to watch the trilogy on James soft couch, in his darkened apartment, away from the world, and Jesse slides slowly down the couch and into welcomed, easy sleep. 

Hours later, James wakes slowly, feeling vibrations on his thigh. The two friends are sleeping next to each other, heads on opposite ends of the couch, sharing the blanket that James draped over them. The vibrations stop, and he moves to go back to sleep, adjusting the blanket over his shoulders, the movie still quietly marching on in the background. The vibrating starts again. And again, and once more rapidly. Becoming annoyed, he searches around for what must be a cell phone. He feels it in Jesse's pocket. Slowly, he works his hand in and takes it out. Jesse looks so peaceful, dark circles starting to fade, that James doesn't want to wake him. 

"What the fuck?" James whispers, seeing a blinking indicator for 18 unread text messages on the screen. He turns the phone off, finally silencing the irritating device. He glances over at Jesse, and slowly pulls off his beanie and places it on the table next to the phone, before he nestles in to sleep again.


	5. Chapter V

Jesse groaned softly as he regained consciousness. He grimaced. His neck had a serious kink in it, and he rubbed at it while slowly sitting up and de-tangling his legs from James'. He feels surprisingly rested, all things considered, and if he had any nightmares he doesn't remember them. He looks over at the still sleeping man, the morning sunlight illuminating the kitchen beyond, casting the couch in a strange cool-blue oasis. James had his mouth slightly open, breathing softy. Jesse notices his stubble, how his ears have small, black gauges in them. His dark hair an unruly mess on his forehead, curling around the gauges and the top of his neck. And Jesse allows himself to look at James' mouth again, his lips large for a male and dark against his pale skin. Jesse blushes, and looks away quickly as if caught. 

"Jesus." He muttered, rubbing his face aggressively. Realizing he had no hat on, he grabbed it from the table, and his phone, too. Jesse went to check it, and discovered it was turned off. While he was fiddling with his phone and waiting for it to turn on, James shifted on the couch and groaned as he awoke. 

"Why'd we sleep on the couch?" He grumbles, sitting abruptly. Jesse's mouth falls agape, staring curiously at James. "Not the quickest in the morning – noted. Want some coffee?" James asks as he turns and walks to the kitchen. 

"Uh, sure. Good morning." Jesse bites his lip, rolls his eyes up at the ceiling at himself. He's thankful James has his back turned and can't see how awkward he feels. He stuffs his hat back on his head. Just then, his cell phone gives off his message tone in rapid succession, the technology having caught up with being left off and brought back to life after a night of rest. Jesse jumps a little at the sudden intrusion of reality. 

"Hey," James starts, walking over to the couch with two steaming mugs, "there is an awesome art exhibit this weekend in Santa Fe. I was going to leave this morning and come back later tonight for my graveyard shift at work. It's a Stan Lee comic show, with supposedly tons of unique and rare stuff. You down?" 

Jesse's eyes flicker between James and his cell phone, becoming increasingly more distressed the more he reads the quickly panicked and ruthless messages from Mr. White. Apparently he needs to go see him right the fuck now, and go out and cook together for the next 4 days. 

"Yo, I wish I could. Really, man, that sounds awesome. But, uh, my boss... needs me to come in, like, right now. Some sort of emergency, apparently." Jesse wonders if he sounds even remotely like he's not bull-shitting one of his only friends. Jesse frowns. "Did you turn this off?" He holds out his phone accusingly. 

"Yeah, it was buzzing all fucking night, keeping me awake." James laughs, shaking his head, sipping his coffee. "That guy is an asshole." 

"No shit!" Jesse exclaims, now annoyed, "Now he's pissed at me, you have no idea what – God, I have to go." And Jesse all but runs out of James' apartment, coffee left untouched on the table. 

^^^ 

Hours later, Jesse half-heartedly listens to Mr. White's complaints about his food supplies while checking his phone. 

"Funyuns are awesome." He defends. 

There are several messages from James, each spaced a few hours apart. 

'Sorry about the phone man Just wanted you to sleep' 

'Jesse seriously I didn't know' and minutes later: 'Won't do it again' 

'Jesse? Wtf answer you dick' 

"Hey, uh, yo. Check your phone. Get any bars?" He figures he at least owes James peace of mind. He looks over to Mr. White, who is inspecting yet another thing. 

He un-pockets his phone, "Yeah, I've got a signal." 

Jesse walks over to him, "Let me use yours, would ya?" He implores. 

Mr. White takes one look at him, and dismisses him immediately, "Absolutely not." He continues walking around and looking over instruments. "I have to assume Skyler checks my phone records. You know that." 

Jesse leans against a counter, and tries to appeal to him. "Look it's not business alright. It's personal." 

"What, female?" Mr. White accuses, "The last thing I need is a Skylar hitting re-dial and a stripper answers." He shakes his head. 

"Look he's not a stripper, dickwad." Jesse blurts out, and blushes quickly at the unspoken implication. Mr. White looks at him judgmentally.

"He's a friend, I made plans with and now I obviously have to cancel them." He mentally crosses his fingers his story flies. 

Mr. White does look convinced of this, however still unimpressed. "My wife checks. Sorry." 

Jesse groans. Fucking peachy. 

Later, scrunched uncomfortably on the floor of the RV, Jesse thinks about how at least James' couch was soft. 

^^^  


  
Five days later, Jesse stumbles up his front steps, reeking of sweat; hungry and exhausted. He managed to grab some boxes of his belongings, his sketches and art supplies, and some clothes, which sit next to him on the porch as he searches for his keys. His heart seizes momentarily, thinking he dropped them back in the desert which would be just his luck. Jesse lets out a relieved breath as his fingers find them in his pocket. 

The door to his left opens then, and James walks out, black hoodie on over a stylized 'ABQINK' t-shirt. Jesse looks over at James, guilt washing over him. He opens his mouth to apologize, explain, beg for forgiveness, but all he gets is a angry glance and a quick eye-roll and a, "Fuck you" before James all but sprints off into the dusk. 

"Damn it." Jesse sighs heavily, opening his own door and using his feet to push the boxes into the entry way. He stands there for a minute, looking at his hands and contemplating what to do, before checking his fridge and going straight into the bathroom to clean himself of sand and lab smell.  


An hour later, Jesse is driving down main street feeling refreshed with his music loudly playing and a Monster energy drink in the cup holder. He's looking for a certain tattoo shop, thinking maybe he could get his hand tat touched up, since it was fading in some places. Soon enough, he pulls into the parking lot for ABQINK, a small dark shop sandwiched between a laundry mat and a liquor store. 

He throws his car in park, and turns it off. He pulls off his beanie and before he realizes what he's doing, he's attempting to fix his hair. He laughs quietly to himself, grabs his energy drink, and strides up to the shop. 

Upon entering, he's greeted with glass cases full of piercing accessories and walls of tattoos and tattoo art. He looks around, momentarily impressed, before he's startled by a heavily inked man at the counter. 

"Hey what's up man. What can we do for you today?" 

"Yo. Is uh, James here?" Jesse asks a bit timidly. 

The guy raises his eyebrows, "Yeah. He's here. You want work done by him?" 

Jesse swallows and nods, "Yeah. Well," he lifts up his arm and reveals his tattoo, "Wanted to get this touched up. Heard he's pretty good." 

The man sizes him up quickly, before turning his head and yelling, "James! Got a customer for you!" And looking back to Jesse, says, "He'll be right up."

Jesse nervously paces the front of store while James makes his way up from his station. James smiles at his co-worker, "Dude I was like 5 feet away, no need to yell." He spots Jesse, and frowns immediately. 

"The hell do you want, Jesse?" He spits out, crossing his arms, and glaring in his direction. 

Tattoo man next to him looks surprised. "This is Jesse?" He asks incredulously. 

James punches him in the arm. "Shut the fuck up, Greg." He warns. 

Jesse watches the exchange curiously. "Uh, hey. I wanted to get this touched up." He lifts his arm again. "And man, I'm sorry, can I just explain?" Jesse bites his lips to stop from begging. 

James just glares at him. Greg pips up, "You good to pay?" Jesse nods, and Greg looks over to Jesse. "Help the paying man, James." 

James sighs and uncrosses his arms, before sarcastically spreading his arms out and replying, 

"Right this way, sir." 

Jesse mouths "Thank you." To Greg as he walks past, unsure of what happened during their exchange but grateful it occurred. 

James has his back turned while getting supplies ready on a paper towel as Jesse walks into his station. The walls are covered with his sketches, some with photorealism and many with a comic flare to them. A binder of previously satisfied patrons and their artwork sits in a corner with a chair. Jesse sits down. He clears his throat, but is interrupted before he can speak. 

"Fucking explain yourself. No way of talking to you; I don't even have an emergency contact for you, no replies for days. Shit, I thought you died." James admits, still with his back turned. 

Jesse frowns, saddened his absence caused to much worry, never before has he felt to responsible. 

"I was out on a work... retreat. All weekend, and my phone battery died. I told you, my boss is insane. He doesn't even like Funyuns, so that tells you what kind of person he is." 

"I love Funyuns." James says quietly, a shadow of a smile on his face. 

Jesse continues. "I literally had to meet him at the airport as soon as I left your place. I haven't even slept yet. But I did shower, so you know, you’re welcome." 

James smiles this time, and motions for Jesse to come to him. He stands up and as soon as he's close James grabs his arm gently, pushing up his hoodie sleeve and examining his tattoo. James runs his fingers up and down the design, concentrating. 

"This doesn't look too bad, you'll be outta here in an hour, tops." 

Jesse nods, suppressing a shudder and hurricane of butterflies that erupted in his stomach when James touched him. He felt sweat gather on his top lip, then James drops his arm. 

Luckily for Jesse, he is more relaxed when James comes back to shave and prep his arm for work. They sit in silence for a while, the buzzing of the tattoo machine and quiet music in the background the only sounds. 

James concentrates on Jesses tattoo, and Jesse concentrates on James. Hunched over his arm, meticulously reviewing his work even for a simple touch-up. The shop is quiet, not one other customer at this late hour. James' tongue barely poking out the side of his mouth unabashed consumption. 

When they do speak, it's in whispers, "You're a drug dealer." James says while looking at his progress again, rubbing Vaseline on the section he just completed. It's not a question. 

Jesse grimaces, not from the pain of the needle. "Yeah, basically. More like product development." He admits, daring a look at James' face. James nods, and meets his eyes. 

"How'd you know?" 

James pushes back the sleeve of his own hoodie to reveal a stylized number 1 on his inner wrist. 

"Been one year sober. Oxy." He says. "And you're kind of obvious." He grins. 

"Shit." Jesse says sheepishly, and grins back. "I mean, congratulations." 

"Yeah. Thanks. Hardest fucking thing I ever done." He shakes his head. "But you're all done." He says, referencing Jesse's own tattoo. Jesse didn't even notice James had stopped. 

After Jesse gives James cash for his work, and a gratuitous tip, they leave the shop and end up hovering by Jesse's car in the cool night. 

"Thanks again," Jesse says, "But, let me make it up to you somehow? I feel really shitty about this weekend." He admits, rubbing the back of his head.

"Have anything in mind?" 

Fuck, shit. "Uh. Just come over. And I'll make something, or we could watch something." Real good salesman, right there folks. Jesse mentally kicks himself. James looks at him, a bored expression on his face. 

"Or, you know, I got some of my sketchbooks from... storage. We could check it out and laugh at my adolescent art skills?" He asks hopefully. 

This seems to pull James back, and he smiles and pats Jesse on the back. "Now that sounds like redemption. See you tomorrow?" 

Jesse nods, "Yeah, yeah. Come later in the day, I gotta get some food all mine went bad." 

"Alright, it's a date." James says, and with a mock salute, walks back work. 

"Uh, bye." Jesse finishes lamely, once again glad James can't see how his face turns bright red. 

Jesse drives home with the windows open through the inky night; arm sore, heart race high, and a stupid nervous grin on his face.


	6. Chapter VI

Jesse waddled into his apartment, hands weighed down heavily with grocery bags. He honestly still wasn't sure what he was going to make for his date. Date. Going over it in his brain, it still didn't register. Had James meant that, or was it sarcasm? Why did the thought of going on a date with James make Jesse squirm? 

He unceremoniously dumps the bags on the floor in the kitchen. As he surveys the mess and runs a rough hand over his face a few times, his mind wanders back to James, again. He feels the pull of anxiety creep in his stomach and up to his twitching hands. Jesse thinks he's less concerned with it being a date, whatever the fuck that means, and more concerned with how he is perceived. He sticks his thumb nail in his mouth, gnawing at it. He's worked hard to cultivate his persona, but James seems to see right through it. James can see straight into Jesse's terrified and insecure self, the one who is confused and lost; looking for a beacon in the storm. 

When Jesse's honest with himself, really honest, in the moment of clarity right between where the drugs are wearing off and he's about to pass out, he cares about love, or lack of love, to be more accurate. Always thinking about it, the hell hound of hopelessness, lovelessness, catches up to him and he sticks his pipe back in his mouth before it can stick it's fangs into his chest. James gives Jesse more acceptance he's even gotten from his parents, or from Mr. White, or any of his teachers. Hell, even Badger is a judgmental douche at times. It's fast, and it's intense, and Jesse can't really think any more about it, he's got some food to prepare. But the tingling - why does everything James touch tingle? 

Looking around and resolving himself to get over his own bullshit, Jesse grabs his bong and loads up, preparing to cook a meal of epic proportions.

^^^ 

James knocks on Jesse's door, taking on an edge of formality. He wore a button up, his only, for the occasion. Even if he was being sarcastic, James has been feeling hastily drawn to the other man, craving his company and wishing to know him better. He's certain Jesse feels it, too. 

Seconds tick by, and Jesse pulls the door open quickly. 

"Yo." He says, real cool. He stops himself from leaning against the door frame. 

"Hey, Jesse." James smiles. 

A beat ticks by, before Jesse starts and steps aside and lets his friend in. 

"So, I got like, a shit ton of ingredients," Jesse begins, walking back to the kitchen. "But I don't have a whole lot of pans and utensils, so I had to improvise." He cups the back of his neck, itching his hairline like he's itching his nerves. 

"S'alright dude." James grins, "I brought this over." He reveals a bottle of Jameson he had been concealing behind his back. 

"Yeah, nice, bitch." 

James sets in on the counter and leans up against it. "So, what's on the menu, Chef?" He folds his arms across his broad chest, unforgiving fabric stretching tight over his biceps. 

"Well I thought we'd go Mexican and I got all the ingredients for tacos or like, burritos or sopes or whatever. That's why it's currently a fucking salad bar in here right now, and I don't have enough bowls so," He hands James a Solo cup, "here's the tomatoes." Jesse thinks he might die from embarrassment. 

James lets out a hearty laugh, and steps away from the counter, shaking his head. He pats Jesse on the shoulder and cuffs the back of his neck affectionately, rubbing the space behind his earlobe briefly with the pad of his thumb. Jesse's mouth drops open and goosebumps raise on his neck, cue the tingling, but James has already stepped around him to begin making his own meal. Jesse let's out a breath he didn't realize he was holding, and follows James' lead. 

^^^ 

Pleasantly full and sitting on his bed with James, Jesse reaches for his smaller pipe and asks if it's cool if he smokes. 

“Nothing like the post-meal smoke, yo.” He declares, “Especially after spicy food, you can still feel it in your throat.” He sighs happily as the smoke fills his lungs and surrounds his brain in a soft, comforting blanket. 

James nods along, while starting to pull boxes up from the floor. 

“So, where shall we start?” He grins broadly. 

“Whoa! Whoa, yo, like do we have to do it now? Can't we just chill?” 

"Jesse," James playfully admonishes him, "Don't delay the inevitable, man." 

Jesse rolls his eyes, but doesn't protest again as James begins sorting through some of his art. Scraps of paper, sketch books, and a small canvas here and there, all full of Jesse's art through the ages. Soon James reaches what Jesse refers to as his Clark Kent phase, where everyone was a superhero or some sort. 

"So, who's this?" James asks, leaning over to Jesse with a sketchbook, a picture of a floating guy displayed. 

Jesse nods, "Yeah, that's Hover Man. He can surf, skate, glide whatever, because he's always got a 6-inch cushion of air under his feet." He leans in towards James to get a better look. Both men now hunched over the sketchbook. 

"That's cool." James says, tracing it with his fingers gently. "Nice lines." He turns the page. "And this dude?" 

Jesse chuckles, "That's Kanga-Man." 

James raises his eyebrows, "Kanga-Man? What, like half-man, half-kangaroo? The fuck's his power?" 

Jesse blushes a little, "He's got super strength, and a side-kick, Joey. He rides around in his pouch and they, you know, fight crime." He shrugs. 

"So, wait. That makes him a girl." 

Jesse balks at him. 

"Yeah, you know that, right? Only female kangaroos have pouches."

"Yeah, yeah. I know." Jesse insists. 

"But, this is definitely a dude." James points out, grinning wickedly. 

"Shut up." Jesse whines, "He's a product of experimentation, get it? Next sketch, dude!" 

James chuckles, "Mhmm. Well he's got nice muscles, at least." 

Jesse ignores the way the compliment makes his toes curl and stomach warm. 

James turns the page. "Alright, who's this one?" 

Jesse leans over, the sketchbook now laying in James lap on his folded legs. 

"It's Backwardo. Wait, no. I actually-- I changed it to Rewindo. Anyways, he goes backwards. He can make everything go in reverse." 

"Like time-travel?" James looks up at Jesse, their faces having grown closer while looking at the picture. 

Jesse shakes his head, both in answer to James and to clear it a little. 

"He just walks backwards." 

James laughs again, eyes sparkling in the dimly lit bedroom. "What? That's it?" 

Jesse shoves his shoulder. "No! Jesus. Okay, he walks backwards really fast. Okay, look, say someone's coming at him with a knife, right? I mean, it's helpful. Then he can just zip backwards away from them." 

"Ookay," James grins again. 

"Yo, I was a kid when I drew all these, okay? It was years ago." Jesse rubs the scruff of his facial hair with vigor. 

"They're good, Jesse, really." James concedes, "I'm just giving you shit." Jesse smiles softly, and nods. 

James continues to look at the sketches quietly, and Jesse turns on some music and continues to smoke. A few minutes pass, and James scoots up the bed to sit right next to Jesse, and says, "You know, they all look like you. They're like all self-portraits." 

"No," Jesse shakes his head, "No way, man. You're crazy." 

James leans his shoulder against Jesse's, "I wonder what a shrink would say if he saw them," He teases in Jesse's ear.

He grabs the book from him, eyes downcast he grumbles, "Whatever, like you never wanted a super power when you were a kid." He continues to fiddle with the bindings of the book while James looks at him. 

James slowly moves his hand to where Jesse is playing with a loose string, and lays it gently over his. Startled, Jesse looks up to meet James' eyes, now closer than ever. His eyes dart from their joined hands, to James' eyes, down to his lips when James' runs his tongue out over to wet them. 

"This definitely makes up for that disappearing act. Thanks for showing them to me, Jesse." He says quietly. 

Jesse gulps, and nods, his voice thick, "Yeah, sure." 

James runs his hand up Jesse's arm now, and to cuff his neck like he did earlier in the kitchen. Jesse is forced to look at James, and he sees his eyes shining now. He wets his own lips unconsciously, heart beating loudly and erratically in his chest, and James gently guides them together, eyes closed, to bridge the distance between their lips.


	7. Chapter VII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've made some changes to chapter 6, nothing major to the plot, but it feels smoother to me now. Go read again if you're interested. And enjoy! We're getting to some more naughty bits soon, hold onto your pants!

Jesse breathes in sharply, body going rigid immediately. He feels the whiskers from James' upper lip on his own, prickly and foreign, as they push gently against his closed mouth. James pulls back, feeling Jesse's lack of participation. 

"Shit." He mutters, moving away. 

Jesse grips the front of James' shirt quickly, tightly, and the two men share an instant of intense eye contact. Jesse looks down, blood blooming on his cheeks, but doesn't let go. James sees him shake his head minutely. And doomed to forever be an addict of some form, Jesse chases the high James gives him, and pulls him gently towards himself. 

James smiles as his lips meet Jesse's once again. Kneeling slightly over Jesse now, James holds his face gently with hands, and Jesse relaxes further against the wall, James' hands warm and secure, a feeling unlike he's ever felt before from a kiss, arching his neck up to kiss him. 

They kiss languidly and slowly, closed mouth, for long minutes. James rakes his nails through Jesse's hair and he groans, low in his throat, and James maneuvers them so they're lying next to each other. James pushes his tongue into Jesse's mouth, their scratching facial hair making his lips tingle and suddenly everything is so hot, James' hands leaving scorching trails over his back, grabbing Jesse by the hips and nape. 

James glides his hands up and down Jesse's thigh, hitching his leg over his own, and slotting their hips closer together, his large hand at the crease between his ass and leg. Jesse feels the hard push of James against him, and he blushes all over again, arousal spiking deep and unexpected in his gut as he resists his urge to move his hips and sate his own burgeoning erection. 

James is shamelessly grinding against him now, kissing and breathing heavily into his neck, sending shivers through him, moving his body with his. Jesse moans quietly, feeling the beginnings of hickies forming, hips writhing slowly, his hands lying useless on James' waist. He feels a little bit like he's in high school again, nervous and inexperienced, which is true, but so excited to feel what happens next. 

Suddenly, there is a loud knocking on the door. As if electrocuted, James pulls apart from Jesse hastily, breathing heavy with anxiety, tense and uncomfortable. 

"James!" They hear, a deep man's voice. "James, where are you?!" More knocking. 

He scrambles from the bed. "Shit! Fuck!" 

Jesse watches in slack-jawed awe as James runs from his apartment out the back door. He hears him bang his way through his side and the pounding abruptly stops. There's a muffled conversation, and with curiosity killing him he makes his way to his own front door. Peering out of the window, muscles coiled as if waiting to be attacked, he sees James being embraced by a man on the front porch, and then them leaving in a car together. Jesse sinks to the floor, flabbergasted, as he watches the car drive away. 

He sits leaning against the wall, running his fingers across his mouth. What the actual fuck just happened? 

He starts rummaging around for his meth pipe when he hears his phone, buzzing loudly on the kitchen counter. He eyes it warily before it stops, and he resumes his search. However, another set of buzzing draws his attention back to it. 

Pipe in one hand, he goes to the kitchen to answer (and also because he's pretty sure that's where he left a lighter). The screen tells him that it's Skinny Pete. 

"Yo?" He answers, cradling the phone on his shoulder, lighting up the remnants of a rock as he does so. 

"Jesse? Jesse, you at your new pad? I got somethin' to tell ya, man. I think it should be in person." 

"What? What is it, man?" Jesse's face wrinkles in concern, hearing the somber tones of his friend's voice. 

"Yeah, okay." Jesse nods, "Come over." 

"Tight." And he hands up.

Jesse stares at his phone after the weird, abrupt conversation with Skinny Pete, standing in his kitchen surrounded by the remnants of the taco dinner he made. Looking around, annoyance becoming clear and ferocious on his face, Jesse grabs the garbage can and pushes everything from the counters inside, and slams it down. Snagging a pinch of crystal from the stash under the sink, Jesse moves to the living room to wait for his friend. 

When Skinny Pete arrives sometime later, he looks beaten up, eyes baggy and face more gaunt than usual. 

Jesse lets him inside, "What's up, man?" 

Skinny Pete makes his way around the living room. 

"Can I get some?" He asks, pointing to the pipe on the floor by the window. 

Jesse nods, and crosses his arms. Waiting. 

Skinny takes a long hit from it, breathing deeply, his eyes closed. 

"Combo's gone." 

^^^ 

Jesse stares numbly into the dark of his apartment. The only light flickering from the flame of the lighter as he smokes a second, and third, stolen rock from the bags under the sink. After Skinny Pete told him what happened, that Combo was shot – all because of the stupid idea from Mr. White that they needed to expand their turf – and the subsequent conversation with him and his former teacher's lack of apparent concern for his friend's death, Jesse was feeling rung dry. Not to mention, Skinny was no longer a part of the crew. And James, holy shit, Jesse's brain was bursting over capacity. He felt exhausted but the meth was keeping him awake. Not like he could sleep, anyways. 

He heard James come home, hours ago, maybe. What time it was, he couldn't tell you. Jesse was hurting, and James' lack of sensitivity or acknowledgment being the final nail on the coffin. Was he the other man in this situation? Was there even a situation? Does this make him a fag now? It hurt his head to consider it, all the scenarios jackhammering in his mind, and so he smokes again. 

There's a knock on his door. He aggressively ignores it. Again, a series of knocks. 

"Jesse?" He hears. He takes another hit. 

"Jesse, I can see the lighter from outside. Come on, don't make me go all landlord on you and get the key." 

"Fuck off." Jesse mumbles, standing next to the door now. "Who the fuck was that dude? Go away." 

"Jesse, please? Let me explain what happened!" 

He yanks the door open quickly, to a shocked look on James' face. 

"That guy is my dad, man. He decided to check up on me." He explains, mild embarrassment written on his face, "I kinda forgot he does that, sometimes. He's been laying off lately since I've been going to NA meetings though, but he's worse than a probation officer. Sorry I literally ran off, dude." 

Jesse squints at him, anger and confusion leaving him, but sadness remaining. 

"My friend got murdered." He blurts with wet eyes, the pair still in the doorway, "And it's my fault – I told him he – And Mr. White – " He stops himself. "I'm smoking. Meth. A lot, and if you're in a narc program... you should probably just stay out." 

James gently lets himself into Jesse's apartment, shutting the door quietly. He tugs the pipe from Jesse's hands, sets it down, and keeps his hand tucked with his. 

"Jesse, I'm into downers, make-you-sleep-shit. Meth has no appeal to me." He tugs him along, towards the bedroom. "Come on. You look like fucking hell." He teases, as they move back to Jesse's room. 

Jesse allows himself to be pulled, "I'm so wired right now, there's no way I can sleep." He shakes his head, still resisting despite being pushed onto his mattress. 

"You're more tired than you think." James insists, making his way around to the other side. He sits down and pulls off his shoes and jeans, and slides under the blankets. "Now lay down. Doctor's orders." 

Jesse lays down slowly. "Doctor? What school you go to, huh, doc?" 

"The school of life. PhD in sleepology." He replies. 

Jesse snorts, and turns towards James. He sees his blue eyes shining next to him. James reaches out to Jesse slowly, as if taming a stray cat, and pulls him in close. James presses a kiss on his forehead and tucks Jesse into his neck. 

"Good night, Jesse." He whispers, "I've got you." 

He sleeps, and Jesse believes him.


	8. Chapter VIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long-ish time between posting. Thanks for sticking with me! I so enjoy and live for the kudos, & comments; thank you! Hope this kinda lengthy, and sexy (hopefully?), chapter makes up for it! :)

James takes deep breaths while he's standing in the doorway, pushing the heel of his palm into his crotch to stop the remaining swelling. He's buying some time to think of an excuse, bouncing on his heels. 

"Just a second!" He yells to his dad, and takes one more deep breath, runs his hands through his hair. 

He opens the door to see his father standing there, the line of his posture ruler straight. 

"James, I've been knocking for five minutes. What's going on?" 

James suppresses the eye roll that his father's accusatory tone inspires, and says instead, "I was listening to music, working. I just noticed the banging." 

"Thought the drums were knocks, Jamie?" A Cheshire grin, an inside joke no one is a part of. James wonders when his father will realize no one is laughing. 

"Uh, yeah. So, what do you need, dad?" James asks, impatiently tapping the door frame. I really have other things I'd like to be doing, he thinks. 

"Can't a father check up on his son?" He asks innocently. Silence. "Anyways, I was just driving past, and heading to eat. Have you eaten?" 

James shakes his head in immediate reaction, instantly regretting it. 

"Then I insist you join me." He reaches around James, closing the door behind him, and ushering his son onto the porch. James would be touched if he knew his father wasn't just checking up on his to make sure he was staying clean. Which he was – and is – thank you. 

James sighs, "Okay." 

Donald Margolis then tugs his son into his arms, and James goes tense, the unexpected contact making him slightly uncomfortable. 

"I've missed you," He says, "And I'm so glad you're back." 

James nods, and awkwardly returns his affections, patting his back lightly. After rehab, his father had become unnaturally affectionate and judgmental at the same time, the combination of which usually leaves James reeling. 

"Alright, are we going?" He asks brusquely, before the moment can get too long. 

Donald nods, "Someplace nice," and the pair make their way to his parked car. And as they pull away, James thinks he catches a glimpse of Jesse's curtain moving in the rearview mirror, and smiles. 

Donald drives himself and his son into the upscale area of Albuquerque, where the strip malls all have specialty stores and there are no run-down gas stations for miles. The tract housing and muted minivans making James bored and aching for oblivion again. This is what his dad never understood about his drug use, the inescapable urge he has to float away from the mundane, to quiet his brain that would never stop, overstimulated with nowhere to go but down. 

They end up at a chain Italian restaurant. Strollers and huge purses like traffic cones, leaving a path on the floor to their table. James sits with his father in the booth, staring blankly at the menu, utensils, dripping water cups, and silence between them. James made his food decision almost immediately, but now he is just pretending to be immersed in the menu to avoid conversation for as long as possible. He'd rather be with Jesse. Thoughtful, anxious, funny, sexy-as-fuck-hot-mess, Jesse. James wants to be there with him, kiss him until he's breathless, and hard. Milk his cock and ass until he's a come covered mess on the bed, then do it again. James is pretty sure he's a virgin – at least with men. He sure acts like it, and that thought makes his blood sing. Take him while they're slippery in the shower, or hard over the edge of the kitchen counter; get Jesse to ride him on one of those ridiculous chairs he bought. Lick him from back to front, make him wet, open, begging for James to fill him; to hold him. 

"James!" 

He is pulled from his dirty thoughts instantaneously, waiter and father looking at him expectantly. He has the dignity to blush, and mumbles out his order quickly. 

"Just a cobb salad, thanks." And returns his menu. 

"I'll get those in for you right away." Father and son watch the waiter weave through the crowd, James still unwilling to make conversation, playing with a straw wrapper. 

"So, who is she?" 

James eyes snap up. "What?" He asks, startled. 

"Who is she? You have had this dreamy look on your face ever since we left the apartment." His father asks again, practically beaming. "You haven't had a proper girlfriend since Caroline."

That's because I was fucking Peter, James wants to say, but he shakes his head dismissively instead. But then he smiles slowly, panther like, looking up at his father. 

"Jesse," He breathes. 

^^^ 

There's banging on the door again. Jesse opens his eyes, his room hazy and unfocused. 

He feels the pounding in his chest. Mr. White is there, inside, looming towards Jesse like a great falcon, darkness following him. Jesse's heart is beating wildly, sweat pooling under his arms, dripping down his face. 

He questions, wide eyed, "Mr. White?" His voice small. Walt doesn't seem to hear him, just looks at him, full of disgust. 

"I see you, Jesse." He says, voice full of menace and vindictiveness, echoing in the room; a hand gun hanging at his side. "We all see you."  
And from behind Mr. White, he sees them. Combo – and Tuco. 

Jesse is in a panic, he's running out the door. A million questions flying through his head, "How did they get in? How are they not dead? Where are they now? Where am I?" 

Looking around, it's dark, there's nothing to be seen. Jesse tenses, stops breathing, tries to hear his surroundings. And suddenly there are gun shots from every direction, hitting him, searing his flesh and tearing his clothes, until - 

"Jesse!?" 

"Stop!" He cries, hitting his arms out into the darkness. 

Again, "Jesse!" 

It's James, gently shaking him, hands on his face and waist. 

"Jesse, wake up!" He whispers fiercely. 

He jolts upright in bed, perspiration and tears mixing on his face, and Jesse turns from James, quickly wiping them both away. "Shit," he croaks out, his throat parched. Jesse grabs his t-shirt and rubs his face with it, further chasing away evidence of his terror. 

James reaches out and touches his shoulder lightly, and Jesse flinches. He turns towards James quickly, eyes glossy and quivering in the early hour. "Shit." He says again, pressing the heels of his palms into his eye sockets, as if pushing the tears back into himself. At least when he's up for days straight smoking crystal, he can ignore his nightmares. In sleep, he's too vulnerable. He flicks the bedside light on, and starts looking for a pack of cigarettes. He finds one, and sets it on his lips, now looking for a lighter. He feels James slide next to him on the bed, feels James' large palm on his bare leg, and prides himself that he didn't flinch that time. 

"Jesse," James starts slowly, squeezing his thigh gently, "I have an idea." 

"What?" He mumbles around the cig in his mouth. 

"Do you trust me?" 

"What?" He asks again turning towards James now, cigarette gone, his eyebrows creased. 

"You trust me, right?" 

"Uh, sure. Yeah, I trust you." Jesse nods, and finally spots a lighter on the floor. He reaches for it and then watches James' bare feet as he heads out the door. Jesse just lights his cigarette and stiffly sits, cradling his head in his hands. When Jesse has almost smoked the thing down to the filter, James makes his way back inside. Jesse looks up at him, exhaustion pouring off of his small frame. James steps up onto the bed, and next to Jesse. He's got a small plastic bag with him. 

"Put that out," He says, patting the space next to him, "and come here." 

Jesse obeys, curiosity peaked. 

James opens the bag, and takes out one of the small white pills, and places it delicately on his tongue. Jesse's sharp eyes tracking his every movement. James leans in, and holds onto Jesse's neck as he presses open mouthed kisses against his lips. Jesse's eyes flutter shut as he gets swept away, and he opens his mouth and James' tongue pets his, and suddenly, the pill is in his mouth, and down his throat, and James is kissing him still, tongue swirling and teasing his own. He pulls away. 

"What was that, dude?" 

James just smiles, and picks another pill from the bag, and dry swallows it himself. 

"It's my emergency kit," He explains, eyes dancing, "My oxy." 

Jesse's eye bulge, "What? What the fuck!?" 

James pulls Jesse towards him again, intent on kissing him, but Jesse stops him. "You shouldn't do that, yo," Jesse says, "Ain't you gotta stay clean for your P.O. and shit?" 

James chuckles, "I'm barely gonna feel it," He explains, rubbing his thumb on his favorite spot on Jesse's neck, "You though, you are gonna be a lead pipe in an ocean of molten lava." 

Jesse bristles, "Yo, I've taken fucking percs before." 

James smiles again, "Good," He reaches past Jesse and turns off the light, "then you know they work better if you relax." And he pulls him down onto the bed. 

Jesse is tense, still upset about James taking the pill, but his gentle hands trace down his sides and he can't help but relax. They kiss heavy, slowly, Jesse feeling his temperature rise, his hips squirming. James reaches the hem of his shirt, and pulls it quickly off, tracing new patterns on his chest and stomach, making his muscles jump and goosebumps rise all over. He shudders, and begins exploring James. Over his large biceps, so different from his own swimmer's arms, his shoulders, the hem of his shirt. 

Tentatively, he puts his hand on the small of James' back. He takes this as permission, and soon James pulls his own shirt off and, holy shit, James is covered in tattoos. Jesse only has a moment to admire them before James starts fingering the edge of his boxer shorts, pulling it down until they're almost off. James has his hand on Jesse's hip, rubbing in circles, sneaking beneath his boxers to grab his ass playfully. Jesse's hips stutter into James' own, and he feels James hot and hard against himself. He groans quietly, he never thought that would be as hot as it is. 

His limbs begin to feel heavier, and he feels forced to close his eyes. "That's it, baby," He hears James whisper. James kisses his neck, tickling it with his tongue, surely leaving hickies. The thought makes Jesse smile lazily. When was the last time he had a hickey? 

His boxers slide off and then James' hand is on his dick, stroking even and sure. He moans, thrusting along with his tempo, precome sticky and sliding along. He's holding onto James' shoulder for dear life, head in the crook of his neck, breathing heavily. James laughs and cups his balls, gently rolling them together. Jesse can't seem to stop his hips from twitching, and then he feels James' dick against his own, feels the precome that isn't his. His eyes fly open to see James holding their cocks together in the grip of his hand, not able to fit around them but giving just enough pressure. It looks absolutely filthy. He strokes them together. 

"Do you trust me?" James asks. Jesse looks up at him mutely, eyes glazed now and slipping slowly shut as James rubs the head of his dick. He feels the answering chuckle against his neck. Never has sex been so funny, Jesse thinks. 

He feels James get up off the bed, his limbs now limp on the mattress and loosing shape, like a marionette who just finished his performance. He's turned onto his back, and his legs are slid open easily, makes him feel exposed, a jolt of arousal washing through him; he feels like a whore. He must of said it out loud, because then James is giggling again, and says, "Just wait," before Jesse feels his cock engulfed in James' mouth. He whimpers, he can't look, he can't open his eyes, his arms useless as his sides. 

James' fingers are circling his dick now, jerking it slowly, and he feels a wetness then, on his entire cock and into his balls. His brain is trying to catch up, wondering why there's so much, when his body is feeling James rubbing at his asshole. Jesse tries to protest, weakly, it's too fast, but James is there, stroking his dick, and licking his inner thighs, and all he can do is take it. And who's to say he wouldn't have anyways? 

Jesse feels James fingers now, barely breaching his hole. He tries to tense at the new intrusion, but he can't muster the energy. It's slick and hot, and who knows how much time has passed and then suddenly there's white hot blinding pressure from his ass and, dear God, he's moaning so loud and twisting his hips. 

"James," He gasps. 

"Yeah, baby. Yeah, Jesse, I got you." He hears, and then he's coming. He's coming harder than he ever has in his entire life, and it's hot and wet on his stomach. He feels James rub it into his skin, hears him groaning above him and between his still spread legs. 

The last thing Jesse remembers before sliding off into a blissful, dreamless sleep, is the sound of James coming, and the feel of the stripes of James' warm spunk landing on his stomach.


	9. Chapter IX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably not long enough for the amount of time since the last update, but, I am no longer writing a research proposal so I will have a bit more time for this and you all. ;) 
> 
> SERIOUSLY ENJOY, YO

Jesse wakes up exactly where he fell asleep. Through the slits of his eyes, his room slowly comes into focus. He drags a heavy tongue over his chapped lips, blinking slowly, eyelids heavy. With a groan he pushes himself upright, his limbs feeling full of sand and just as gritty. Jesse feels dried cum peeling on his stomach, "Sick," He says, rubbing at it, then immediately blushes, remembering how it got there. He looks over at the warmth of James next to him, suddenly aware of their nudity. He must be in some twilight zone or some shit, no one would believe his life even if he swore on the Bible. 

James is lying there on his back, the dim light from the rising (or setting?) sun illuminating his previously hidden tattoos. Jesse takes a moment to peak at their intricate detail. It's all really one large tattoo that's covering his chest and stomach, reminding Jesse very much of rock artists or professional skateboarders. Roses, skulls, swords, some lettering; it all looks traditional and meaningful. Jesse rubs at his own arm tattoo unconsciously. His tattoos were all spontaneous and thoughtless, and he bets James put a lot of thought into his. Maybe one day he'll learn about them. 

Rubbing his face roughly, Jesse drags himself out of his bed and moves slowly towards the bathroom to take a shower. Once inside, he lets the hot water drench him as he stands there with his shoulders hunched. He works the soap slowly over his body, trying to focus on what next step he's been assigned from Mr. White, or what even to do with this day, but he keeps losing his thoughts. They slip out of his hands like the soap, down the drain and by the time he realizes it they're gone. Mr. White. Drugs. James. Oxy. James gave him oxy. James gave him a blow job, and something unholy with his ass. He's not sure which one shocks him more.

Before he can give anything much more thought, he hears the door open and James come into the bathroom. 

"Yo, occupied!" He croaks, intending to sound authoritative but he comes across more like an angry toad. 

"Gotta piss," is the response he hears from the other side of the murky glass shower door. Jesse hears the flush of the toilet, warily eyeing James' shadowy figure through the glass. The door opens and he's met with his grinning face. 

"Morning Sunshine," James teases, bullying his way into the stall with Jesse. Jesse makes a choked off noise, covering his privates quickly. He tries to shy away from James, turn towards the wall, but the shower is small, and James is large, and Jesse is cornered. 

"What are you doing!" Jesse squeaks. 

James reaches around Jesse and grabs the soap. "I'm taking a shower, dumbass. It's like 4 PM, and I have to go into the shop soon. We slept pretty late, huh?" He smiles again, rubbing soap across his wide chest. Jesse does his best not to stare at the bubbles moving down James' towards his happy trail. 

"Alright, well, I'll get out. Jesus," He mutters, trying to squeeze past his unexpected shower guest. 

James puts his arm out to stop him, bends down low and lets his lips brush against Jesse's neck as he says, "I'm not in that much of a rush, baby." Jesse bangs his head backwards onto the wall, and James moves down to mouth his neck and collar bone. Jesse bites back a groan, not very certain of himself in the bright light of the bathroom. 

"James..." He begins, "James, I don't know, man." 

He feels warm palms slide down his wet body, squeezes his hips, reaches around and cups his ass tight. James pulls Jesse against his body, rubbing his increasingly interested cock into Jesse's own. James pins Jesse with his hips to the wall, and grabs the soap, rubbing it over Jesse's chest and stomach. Jesse twitches at the contact, body sensitive. He fights back a whimper. 

"You're so tense, I thought we helped you with that." James says into his neck again. 

Jesse nods slowly, contemplative; "Yeah, sort of." Jesse stops the train of thought leading to Mr. White before it even leaves the station. 

James reaches for a bottle of shampoo, and squeezes a large dollop directly onto Jesse's hair. It's cold and slides down his ears, making him shiver. James starts a slow massage of the suds and Jesse feels his head tilt back, mouth open wide, and his eyes slide closed. James rubs his strong fingers through Jesse's hair. He makes another embarrassing sound. 

"Shit yeah," He murmurs. James chuckles. 

James spins them around so Jesse is under the spray; the bubbles trail down Jesses body and the warm water relaxes him even further. James reaches a slippery hand to his semi hard dick and pulls him towards his body. Their shafts touch and Jesse looks at James through the steam and wet of the shower. He's just grinning widely at him. 

James takes them both in hand again, and strokes until Jesse is panting and rubbing against him, mouths sliding together, he's gripping at James' arms and they spill together abruptly. Their noises of pleasure bounce off the shower walls. After a moment, Jesse runs his hands over his face, and when he looks again James is kissing him deeply under the spray of the water. Jesse feels completely owned, dominated. And yet cared for. 

James turns off the water and leaves the stall. Jesse is sure he has stars in his eyes as he follows. James is drying himself off and suddenly it hits him. 

"That's my only towel, you bitch!" 

^^^ 

After getting mostly dry, and checking his phone, Jesse searches around his room for some clothes to wear to meet Walt. James is searching for his own clothes among Jesse's, and seemingly taking every opportunity he can to touch him, brush him, and generally grope Jesse. He finds he doesn't mind too much, hiding a smile in the floor. 

"Where are you going again?" James asks from the bed, pulling on a sock that may or may not be his own. 

"Our lawyer wants me and Mr. White to meet this uh, business associate of his to maybe partner up with." 

James looks over at Jesse's coiled form, and reaches into his pants pocket. "I still have one more oxy left. Why don't you take it?" 

Jesse shakes his head, reaching instead for cigarettes. 

"Come on, Jess. It'll help." 

He takes a drag, ignoring James' outstretched hand with the little pill in it. "Why the sudden change of heart about this shit?" He challenges, chin jutted towards James' hand. 

James looks slightly offended, but leaves his hand out. "Because I had a change of heart." He says quietly, giving Jesse a meaningful look. Jesse looks away shyly, sucks his cigarette again. 

"It won't hurt you," He explains, "Unless you want me to inject you, that'll fuck you up. But this-" He says, moving towards Jesse like one might move towards a wild cat, "-this will just help you a bit." 

Jesse looks back at him, at his earnest face and offering, and nods minutely. James smiles, pops the pill in his mouth, and before Jesse can question him, swoops in to deliver the oxy via kiss once again. 

Jesse swallows dry, and grabs a hold of James' shirt. They share a look, and before he can change his mind, Jesse pulls James in, leans up, and kisses him. And if his world axis tilts a little bit, later, he'll just blame it on the opiates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your support, your patience, and your kudos/comments. Love!


	10. Chapter X

A crumpled, greasy fast food bag lays to Jesse's left. After an unsatisfactory meeting with Mr. White at Pollos Hermanos, he grabbed some food and went straight home. He hasn't left his bed since, crumbs having collected on his shirt along with his self-misery; he simply can't be bothered to wipe it away. It's much easier for him to sit in his pitiful state, thinking about Skinny Pete's message from Combo's funeral. He feels like a shitty friend for encouraging him, for essentially orchestrating his murder, and even shittier for not being at the funeral itself. And that asshole never showed up at the cheap ass chicken restaurant, making Jesse agitated and effectively ruining his mellow from the oxy. Not knowing what else to do, he loads up his crystal pipe with enough for a long night. 

Hours later, with the darkness surrounding him, Jesse is slouched and listening to the voicemail again. His eyes sting with unshed tears, and his hand hurts from gripping his pipe so tightly. Guilt overwhelms him, it's suffocating, oppressive and hot. His chest feels tighter and tighter until he's sure his lungs will collapse. This isn't what his parents wanted for him. This is not even what Mr. White wanted for him. Saul's probably disappointed, too. No one is surprised, and that's the worst bit. He's about to take another hit when he hears James coming home next door, his boots heavy on the porch and the door opening and closing. He rushes to his own front door and pulls it open, knocking briskly on the other door. 

"James?" He croaks, throat rough like he's been chewing on rocks. "Yo, are you there?" He pleads, desperation slipping into his voice. 

James opens his door, but turns away quickly. The light pours out, vibrating and stark. Jesse's eyes hurt with unshed tears. "Hey, just got home. I am fucking starving. What's up?" He's busy pulling at his shoes and walking towards his kitchen. He gets out a bag of chips and a can of beer, guzzling it down in quick gulps. Jesse is leaning against the door frame, eyes shining in the dim light and downcast, unfocused. 

"Jesse?" 

He drags his eyes to meet James'. James takes in the image of Jesse slumped against his door frame, with his disheveled clothing and red rimmed eyes that are pleading with him for something, anything. James thinks he knows what he wants, but he needs Jesse to be the one to say it. He walks up to him. 

"What is it?" He asks softly. 

Jesse blinks hard, deep lines around his eyes making him look older and sadder. He lets lone, hot tears make two streaky paths down his cheek bones, and James is there to cup his face and wipe them gently away. 

Jesse shakes his head and sniffs loudly, pulling away minutely. He looks up at James and says, "Come over. I want to do that thing you talked about before. I can't fucking stand it, James, I gotta --" He chokes off. James looks at him in earnest. They stare at each other for a beat, letting time drip past until James nods his acquiescence. 

"Okay. Let me call my guy; he's good for it. Owes me one anyways." He lets a small, crooked smile break free, and they head over to Jesse's side; dark and cold in the night. 

They laze on Jesse's bed together as they wait for James' friend to drop off their narcotic package, smoking cigarettes and listening to music playing softly from a stereo Jesse bought. Not much conversation is shared between the pair, both considering the weight of what they are about to undertake together. Suddenly, James turns towards him and says, "What do you think about God?" 

Jesse's eyes sparkle with un-spilled laughter, thinking they weren't even high enough to talk about God yet. But, taking in James' serious expression, he says, "Used to go to church with my folks, but they weren't real serious about it." He shrugs. "Neither was I." 

"Church and God is why I started oxy, Jesse. Church and the suburbs." 

"Whattaya mean?" He lights another cigarette. "I mean, the suburbs suck, totally, like a lot. Look at Mr. White, he's gone ape shit and he's living in the suburbs. But, church?" 

"I was an altar boy, at a Catholic church. With a pervy priest." 

Jesse looks at him like he's joking. 

"I'm not joking." They hear a knock on James' door. "I'll go get it." 

Jesse is reeling from James' revelation, but with little time to think about it as James walks briskly back into his room. With surgical efficiency he starts pulling out the tools to prepare to inject the oxy into their veins. He begins by crushing the pills. "Oxy took away the pain, takes the pain away." He says, grinding the back of a spoon to make the pills into a fine powder, "Made mass bearable. Made everything bearable." He continues, James shakes his head, looks up at Jesse's incredulous face. "Yeah, it's tragic, whatever. Look, I went to rehab, I did the time and the counseling and all that shit. They even took me to a gay-to-straight program." He heats the bottom of the spoon containing the crushed pills. "And now, look I'm trying to be a model fucking citizen, and my dad takes me to church still, to NA meetings; hell he thinks you're a chick." He puts a small ball of cotton in the liquid. "It's not real. None of this is real, and I can't fucking stand it. Even this stupid fucking tattoo I got is meaningless." He rubs it, and sighs heavily. "Sorry dude, got real heavy on you." He starts filling a hypodermic needle with the solution, placing it in his mouth after he's filled it. 

Jesse shakes his head, "No. You deserve to talk about it. I unloaded all my shit on you, it's fine. Makes me feel like a jerk for putting that on you, too." He hesitantly grabs James' hand. "And look, I ain't never done any gay shit, not even watched porn. But--" 

"You don't gotta say anything, Jesse." James smiles at him, but it doesn't reach his eyes. He takes off his belt, and wraps it around Jesse's arm.

"Ready?" 

No, he thinks, and looks down at the belt and he nods anyways, heavy with nervous energy. 

"What's it like?" 

"Well, there's a chill," James says, lining up the needle, "And then, well, you'll see." And he slowly releases the liquid into Jesse's arm. "I'll meet you there, baby." And with a soft kiss as his send off, Jesse finally floats away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was kind of hard to write.


	11. Chapter XI

"Jesse!" 

Bang, bang, bang. 

"Jesse!!!" Mr. White screams. He's outside the backdoor of the apartment, banging on the door and yelling. He yells and breaks his way inside with both the strength and stamina of someone in much better health. He's been frantically trying to get ahold of his partner for what feels like agonizing hours. Walt knows that every minute that ticks by increases the probability of failure, exponentially. He's got one shot and nothing, and nobody, is going to fuck it up for him. 

Mr. White finally gets inside Jesse's bedroom, panting, "Jesse, wake up!" He barks. The boy on the bed doesn't stir at all. Walt pauses briefly to notice that his bedmate is male, but spares it not thought and files it away as he looms over Jesse, the sunlight highlighting the dust in the air as he yells again, "Jesse, wake up! Come on, damn it!" He's shaking him now, his head lolling around in a grotesque fashion. 

"Jesse! Wake up!" His hoarse voice aches in the stillness. He pours a bottle of something from the nightstand on his head, Jesse instinctually sputtering, but still playing the part of limp noodle. With a sudden start, he's shocked awake to Mr. White holding his head up, and demanding: "Where'd you put it? Where's the product!?"

Jesse groans, weakly, "Get off of me." His voice is rough and low, defiant even in his delirium. Mr. White slaps him, with hardly a response. 

"Where is it!" Walk demands again, "Where'd you hide the meth!?" 

"In the kitchen," He mumbles, brain and words slow. 

"Where!" 

"Under the sink." 

Mr. White throws him down to the mattress after his weak response, sprinting with all his might into the kitchen. 

Still floating through molasses, Jesse weakly feels his way towards James, who is still lying shirtless next to him. He does his best to drag himself up to his chest to lay down, but makes it only about half way and ends up with his face buried in James' neck. As Mr. White frantically packs 38 pounds of meth into an upturned garbage bag, and shouting and realizing his daughter is about to be born, Jesse leaves the conscious world once again. 

// 

A loud, shrill ringtone like a wounded bird is pounding its way into James' consciousness. And James is doing his best to ignore it. He rolls over, and Jesse falls off his chest and into the waves of blankets. He grabs it irritably, "What?" He answers, and immediately recoils, "Oh, shit, Dad. I'm sorry, yeah. I overslept, yeah, I'm on my way now. See you soon. Yeah. Bye." He glances around, Jesse's body breathing shallowly next to him. His eyes open comically wide at the busted door. 

"Baby." He shakes Jesse. "Baby," he tries again, "Jesse, someone broke in. Jesse!" One squinted eye looks blearily up at him. "Look, I really have to go. I'll come back as soon as I can. We were robbed, okay?" He gets up to leave, struggles to find something to wear in the mess of clothes on the floor, finally grabbing a hoodie. James is about to walk out when he doubles back, having noticed how Jesse was lying on the bed. 

"Don't lay on your stomach, babe. If you vomit you could choke." He gently maneuvers Jesse onto his side, propping him up with blankets against his back. He kisses his temple gently before rushing out past the garbage on the kitchen floor, past the dying shrubbery on the front lawn, and into his car to meet his Dad at the church where NA is held. 

// 

He rushes inside, and sits down as inconspicuously as he can next to his father. 

"James," He hisses, giving his son a once over. "You're incredibly late! And what on Earth are you wearing?" 

James looks down and sees bright yellow, and gulps. 

// 

With a loud, overdramatic groan, Jesse finally hauls his worn-out body out of bed. In a stupor, he staggers, zombie like, down the hallway from the broken door in the bedroom, to the kitchen. It reeks of trash, and there are cleaning products all over the floor. He sees the open cabinet doors under the sink, and leaps over in a panic, muttering, "No, no, no." Over and over. Frantically searching under the sink for the meth he stowed there, heart racing. Quickly, after not finding it, he slumps in defeat, one last lonely exclamation of disbelief leaving his lips, before he lets reality take hold. 

He makes his way back to the bedroom to find his cellphone, slowly, avoiding what he knows to be one uncomfortable conversation that is in his immediate future.

"You junkie imbecile!" Mr. White hisses to Jesse over the phone line. "What are you calling this number for?" 

Jesse's patience is aluminum can thin, he pinches the bridge of his nose, "I am trying to tell you, man. Last night, somebody broke in my place, yo. I got robbed." He paces the living room floor, avoiding soda cans and used up blunt wrappers. 

"What?" 

"Yeah. Somebody, they got all of our stuff." He explains, "Okay? All of it. You get me, Mr. White?" His voice takes on desperate thinness, "The blue stuff. It's like, uncanny. They knew exactly where to look." 

The silence is deafening. If it wasn't for Walt's slight wheeze, Jesse would've thought he'd been disconnected. 

"I mean, say something, man, all right? Yell at me or something!" Jesse pulls at his hair, his own self-doubt and hate pushing at his seams, cracking his ribs and curling his toes. He can take it from Mr. White, from his parents, coaches, whoever. But when it comes from within, it cripples. 

"Come on! Mr. White!" 

And this time, it's the dial tone that lets him know he's alone. 

// 

It's dark when James gets back. Jesse is nervously, aimlessly roaming around the apartment when he walks in the front door. 

"Yo, you've been gone for like ever, man." Jesse says, not holding back his needy tone. 

James sighs, remaining in the entryway, his aura weary and heavy. "Hey." 

Unsure of what to do, and how to ask for the comfort he wants, Jesse wrings his hands and looks at James imploringly. 

"What a shit day." James offers. Jesse nods, face tight. 

"You eat?" James asks. 

Jesse shakes his head. 

"You shower?" 

Again, Jesse shakes his head to the negative. 

"Yeah, dude, I can tell. I can smell you from here." 

Jesse allows a small grin to break on his face, and James answers with one of his own. He gets behind Jesse and holds onto his shoulders, marching them towards the bathroom. 

Once inside, they strip and step into the stall together. A strange sense of déjà vu washes over Jesse as James soaps up his head with shampoo. As James works his thick, strong, artist fingers over his scalp and into his tense shoulders, Jesse thought he had been totally exhausted, but his dick apparently has other ideas, twitching with interest between his legs. He feels James' hand slide across his abdomen, and his mouth sucking kisses into his neck and shudders and gasps. James presses the length of his body to Jesse's, the water sliding between them creating a suction and wonderful friction, his hot dick in the crack of his ass. 

He's turned around roughly, suddenly, James' hips pinning him to the wall, and he gasps, "James!" And throw back his head. The manhandling in this situation full of sensuality instead of the violence Jesse is so used to, making his head swim and body tremble. 

Tentatively he reaches between them to their dicks, and takes a hold of them in his wet hand, stroking slowly. He hears James' answering groan in his ear, spurring him on. James has his hand resting on the shelf of his ass, teasing the top of his crack, making his hips twitch into his pumping fist. The other hand is tangled in his hair, pulling his head back, exposing his throat and making hot lava coil in his belly. 

Jesse feels James' index finger making its way down to his hole, the still foreign feeling making him squirm. James only shoves his hips into his harder, and Jesse bangs his head back onto the shower wall. James teases his entrance, rubbing in circles as Jesse stutters and struggles to keep pace. He breeches slowly and that's all it takes, and Jesse is whining and coming all over his fist and stomach. 

"Shit, Jesse." James breathes, "Fuck. You're so sexy, damn." He mutters, pulling back to look at Jesse's slumped, sexed out form, taking his own cock in his hand and finishing quickly, cum sliding down Jesse's stomach and into his pubic hair, mixing and finally drifting away. Jesse's small, satisfied smile all the answer he gets. 

// 

"So, what was stolen?" James asks a while later, pizza on the floor between them. 

"Huh?" Jesse asks, munching on his own slice. "Oh, shit. Yeah, um," He pauses, debating on how much to tell James. Does he break the news about the insane amount of meth he had hidden here? 

Before he can answer further, James exclaims, "Whoa, you have like, eight missed calls." 

"Really?" Jesse asks, eyebrowns raised, and super glad for a momentary distraction, looking over at the machine. "They're not from you?" 

"No," James says, "My phone died like 20 minutes after I left." He gets up and heads to the counter where a red blinking number eight waits for him, and presses play.  


Together they listen to an increasingly frantic Mr. White pleading with Jesse about where the product is, how big of an idiot Jesse is, how he's ruining everything, and finally, how he's coming to get it himself, like it or not. 

"What the hell was that?" James asks, looking at Jesse in amazement. 

And then, it hits him. 

"It was Mr. White!" Jesse starts, standing up and beginning to walk around, "Mr. White took all the product, he's the one who broke in!" 

"Slow down, Flash. Who, what now?" 

And Jesse explains everything, there's no holding back now, not after those messages. 

James sits in silence for a moment after Jesse finishes. He nervously bites his lips, hoping that everything didn't just end up in the shitter. 

"Holy shit." James says, "And now he has everything?" 

Jesse nods, misery falling off of him like sweat. 

"Can you go get it? Explain to him you know it was him." 

"No, man, Mr. White. He's not like that, he wouldn't just give it to me." Jesse paces. 

"Well, go talk to him. Then, if he's as much of a douche as you say he is, come back and we'll do something else." James says, as if it were that simple. 

But Jesse is too tired, so he nods instead, and sits down in a hurry, pizza back in his mouth even faster. 

"Look, we'll figure it out Jesse," James says, sitting down next to him. "And in the meantime," he reaches into his pocket, and procures a small baggie of pills and wiggles it in the air. 

"Did you know NA meetings are some of the best places to score?" 

Jesse shakes his head no, and lets himself forget the rest of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe one more chapter left, folks. Thanks for reading, kudos, comments, support, anything/everything! :)


	12. Chapter XII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couldn't let go just yet, probably a few more chapters left, but we're nearing the end for sure. But for now, enjoy some smut. ;)

The glass beaker shatters in a satisfying symphony's crescendo against the blackboard. Jesse watches Walt's face, vulnerable for once, in his shock, and the small pieces of glass falling to the floor. With one last angry, incredulous glare, Jesse strides quickly out of the classroom, and out of the school.  


Driving home, Jesse fumes and boils, disbelief and injustice still hot in his veins. He grips the steering wheel and curses at anyone and anything in his way, spitting like a rattlesnake.  


"I do just fine!" He rants to no one. "Been smoking pot for practically my whole life, yo! Doesn't even matter anymore!"  


He yanks the front door open, slams it shut. "Whitney fucking Houston does crack, everybody still loves her!"  


He makes a beeline for his room, "Mr. White you don't know shit!" He yells on the way, kicking a box roughly. Papers and pencils fly out onto the floor, making Jesse pause. "Ah, shit." He murmurs, realizing he had treated his art so poorly. He bends down and starts to clean up, and while shuffling sketches and erasers, his hand lands on a zip lock baggie, filled with bud. "Oh, dope!" He exclaims, smirking halfheartedly at his own word-play. Who knows how old it is. Jesse's still willing to smoke it.  


Prepping the joint calms Jesse slightly, but he still feels wound, agitated. He sits heavily on his bed. Soon the smoldering blunt is hanging from his lips, so he picks up a sketch pad, and begins to draw. He starts with single drawings of Mr. White in increasingly horrible situations. His pants on fire, getting squeezed to death by an anaconda, in the pillory with Jesse hurling rotten tomatoes at him.  


Then he begins work on a 3-panel comic. First frame, Mr. White and Jesse, yelling at each other. Mr. White looking like an idiot, of course. Second frame, Jesse pulls out a button and the ground opens up beneath Mr. White, and he's hanging in limbo, Wile E. Coyote style. The last frame is Jesse and James high fiving as Mr. White falls into an abyss. Jesse smiles broadly as he finishes off what's left of his drawings, and his smoke. Breathing deeply, Jesse stares at the last frame, at his drawing of James.  


He feels warm.  


Jesse rips out his comic and set it on the pile that's grown next to him. On the new sheet, he begins sketching James, doing his best from memory. Trying to capture his long Hobbit hair, his rueful grin, expressive eyes, braces-perfect teeth. Jesse sets down his pad and pencil after a while, eraser shavings littering the bed like cookie crumbs, not satisfied in his ability to capture his friend. Boyfriend? Jesse scrunches his forehead in thought as he sinks into the pillows.  


Boyfriend.  


And Jesse thinks again about James now, unabashedly. Thinks about the last time they were together, spending time together in his apartment, smoking and laughing, the shower, sharing needles, the shower again. Eyes slipping closed, Jesse pictures their shower in his mind, James touching him with such assuredness, feels himself growing hard in his jeans. He grabs himself roughly over his pants, problems of the day gone; he moans quietly into the descending twilight.  


Jesse rucks up his shirt slightly, belly button out in the open. He runs his hands down his torso, and into his waistband. His hands scratch at his pubic hair, massage around his sack and shaft; teasing, not touching. He groans, hips moving in a steady, slow rhythm. Jesse lets out a sharp gasp as his scratching fingers reach his asshole, and he begins petting and rubbing himself, imagining James over him, smiling, his eyes full of lust. For him, for Jesse. Like he's worth looking at, being with.  


He undoes his zipper then, triangle of colorful boxers peering out. He rubs himself slowly over the cloth, fully hard now, taking his time. He pulls his shirt all the way up to his armpits now, and his jeans down below his ass. One hand ends up trailing down his face, and gets caught on his lips. Spur of the moment, Jesse slides a finger in his mouth, runs his tongue over it. His eyes roll under his lids, and his moan is low and muffled from around the wet digit, imagining it as James' dick, wondering what it would be like.  


"What's this?" He hears whispered from above him.  


Jesse slowly opens his eyes, middle finger still in his mouth. Through hooded gaze he sees James, and jerks his dick up into his palm, gasping as his finger slides free.  


James slides onto the bed, and in between his legs. He looks into Jesse's eyes as he drags his jeans the rest of the way off.  


"Are you real?" Jesse whispers back, arms limp at his sides. James bites his bottom lip as he nods and smiles. James gently removes Jesse's hands from his body, and pulls down his boxers next. He looks up at Jesse as he runs his tongue across his dick, pulling the head into his mouth, bobbing slowly. Jesse's back bows in pleasure and his hands go to James' hair.  


"Shit, shit..." He whimpers, sensitive from his prolonged foreplay.  


James growls, shoves his own jeans down just enough, hard cock bouncing in the air. He lays on top of Jesse, lining them up together, and humps their bodies together, sliding and grinding, mimicking fucking him. James kisses him fiercely, tongue sliding around Jesse's tongue like it slid around his dick.  


Jesse brings his naked legs tighter around James, moving in tandem with him, moans reverberating with every thrust.  


"Fuck!" He exclaims, hands grabbing James's shoulders. "Fuck...fuck!" He stutters, body tight, pleasure exploding through his body as he cums all over their stomachs.  


Panting, Jesse slowly releases his hold on James, bone deep satisfaction settling in his limbs.  


Moments pass, and Jesse opens his eyes.  


"Hey," He says sheepishly.  


"Hey," Says James back, adoration in his voice.  


The sudden realization the James is still against him hard hits Jesse. "Oh, shit, you didn’t..."  


James shrugs. "You were hot as fuck, I'll just jerk off and it'll be over in like 10 seconds."  


Jesse blushes, "Uh, yeah, you could. Or I could," he looks off, "You know. Blow you."  


His eyes go wide. "Shit, fucking yes."  


James detangles himself the rest of the way from Jesse, and lays down next to him. His dick is jutting proudly out from his jeans, pubic hair and dark tattoos contrasting with the paleness of his skin in the low lamplight.  


Jesse maneuvers around so he's between his partner's legs, suddenly nervous, eyeing the hard cock in front of him.  


"Sorry in advance if it's shit," He mumbles.  


"Do it, Jesse." Is the response he receives, "Anything from you isn’t shit."  


Newly resolved, Jesse slowly gives kitten licks to James, grasps him lightly in his hands, pulls his dick as he lathes the head.  


James moans above him, and Jesse looks up at the noise.  


"Oh God." James says. "Yes, so good. So good."  


Jesse extends his mouth around him further, praise making him drunk, slowly bobbing like James did to him moments before.  


"Keep going," Gentle hands on his head, "MMmm..."  


Jesse keeps a steady pace, pumping James like it's his own prick, tongue swirling on the head. He feels lust coil in his belly, too soon to fully form, but enough for later. Soon James is warning him, and Jesse pulls off, jerking him off and spilling cum onto James, with a drawn-out moan from both parties shortly after.  


James pulls Jesse up to him, and kisses him again. Neither man minds the drying cum as they slowly unwind from their orgasms. James eventually pulls off to grab a paper towel, and returns to clean Jesse off as well. Tossing the used towel away, James comes back to the bed and sits down, papers ruffling under him as Jesse pulls back on his boxers.  


James pulls out the comics, the pictures of Mr. White... the picture of himself. He raises an eyebrow at Jesse.  


"Shut up." He says, James grins. "We'll have to set it up so I can get an actual good pic of you, dude. So then it'll be good."  


"Okay." Says James, tease in his voice. He glances down at the 3 panel, chuckles softly at it, and to Jesse's inquiring look, raises it up for him to see.  


"Fuck Mr. White." He says with venom, eyes hard. "Fucking prick-head."  


James lays back down with Jesse, pulls him into his arms.  


"So, what went down?"


	13. Chapter XIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unlucky 13.

Jesse leans his weight against James, shoulder to shoulder, as they lazily smoke cigarettes on his bed and he retells the story of what happened with Mr. White, how ridiculous it all was. 

"So now the dude is refusing to give you your cut?" James asks, blowing out smoke up into the ceiling. 

Jesse nods, his own smoke mixing into the air, leaning more heavily onto James now. 

"Yeah. He totally owes me; I did my share of the work. He still made the delivery on time, like, come on!" 

James nods, laying a comforting hand on Jesse's thigh and giving him a squeeze. "I get it, babe. I'd be super pissed too if someone owed me nearly five hundred dollars." 

Sitting up straight and turning towards James, Jesse says, "No, dude, four hundred and eighty _grand._ " 

James sits up straight, and looks Jesse in the eyes. Jesse startles, surprised by the sudden intensity. "Are you fucking kidding me? Four eighty g's?! Give me your fucking phone right now, we're taking care of this." 

Jesse scrounges around for his phone, finally finding it on the floor, and hands it over to James, who snatches it quickly. "What do you mean?" Jesse asks, scratching at his neck; he's not sure if this is the right move. 

"Trust me." Is the response he gets. Jesse feels his stomach churn. 

James presses the buttons aggressively on Jesse's keypad, and Jesse watches with trepidation from across the bed. The ringing on the other line is loud and heavy in the air of the now tense bedroom. 

Jesse listens with uncertainty as James explains who he is to Mr. White. He overhears Walt spout some usual bullshit to his family about who he's talking to, until the two of them can really talk. James gets up off the bed, passionate and determined. Jesse bites his index fingernail to shreds. 

"He told me everything." James finally says into the receiver, after going back and forth with Walt for what, to Jesse, felt like an eternity. He's pacing the floor and cutting Walt apart like a fat cat lawyer. "And you're going to do right by him. Because what I know about you, high-school teacher turned drug dealer, with a brother-in-law in the DEA; that would make one hell of a story. National news, I'll bet. Do right by Jesse tonight, or I will burn you to the ground." And with that, James hangs up the phone. 

He sits heavily onto the bed next to Jesse. 

"Shit." 

"You just blackmailed him." Jesse whispers. 

"No, Jesse." James shakes his head, "Well, shit. Yes, but he's in the wrong!" James reaches up to cup Jesse's face in his hands. "You deserve what you worked for! I'm not kidding. He's not stupid, he'll pay." 

Jesse bites his lip, and nods at James. James gently massages the back of Jesse's neck, lulling him. "But it's just, I'm not the kind of dude who just rolls. He's my partner." 

James pulls Jesse closer to him, and says with conviction: "I'm your partner." 

Jesse just looks up at him, and lays his hand over James'. 

// 

They end up in the living room, waiting out to see if Mr. White will actually show. Jesse is pacing nervously, and James, cool as a cucumber, is reclining on a chair.

"Will you seriously call the cops?" Jesse asks for the fifth time. 

James resists rolling his eyes. "Baby, listen, I'll decide what to do tomorrow. Just relax. Come sit on my lap." He suggests, a lecherous gleam in his eyes. 

Jesse huffs, but comes to sit. James cradles him as Jesse wiggles and makes himself comfortable. His head is resting on James shoulder, his legs sprawled. It lasts a minute before James shifts and Jesse's up again, pacing around. James sighs. 

"I'm just saying, that totally also frames me, too, if you call the cops --" 

He's interrupted by a knock on the door. 

James is up like a bullet and yanking the front door open, to Mr. White standing there in the night air with a duffel bag. 

"You must be James." He sneers out, distain dripping from every syllable. "I give this to Jesse only. Not you." 

He appears at James' side. Mr. White sidesteps James with a wide berth, and looks Jesse up and down. 

"Nice job wearing the pants." He grits out, still clutching the bag. Jesse frowns. "How do I know he'll keep quiet?" 

"I guess you don't." James supplies, stepping into his personal space. 

Mr. White angles his body away, trying vainly to get to Jesse, to his partner. Wanting to talk sense into him, make him his again. 

"You're not thinking straight, Jesse." Mr. White tries. James snorts. "You are making a mistake." 

Jesse glares at Mr. White, thinking of all the shit he's put him through, and with one last reassuring glance at James, he grabs the duffle. He tugs it to himself. 

"You'll never hear from us again." Is all he says, and Mr. White shakes his head in disbelief, but makes his silent exit. 

They stand in disbelieving silence, the heavy bag between them. The sound of Mr. White's awful car breaking the bubble. 

"Do you know what this is?" James whispers, kneeling down to look at all the money. 

"It's a hell of a lot of cheddar." Says Jesse, going down next to him, setting the bag on the floor. 

"This is freedom," Explains James, staring at the money, his eyes glassy with excitement in a way that drugs could never create. "We can go anywhere, be anyone, do anything. Where do you want to go?"

"Fuck yeah. Can we go to New Zealand? Let's just move there, where they filmed Lord of the Rings." 

James looks at him, and grabs Jesse's hips and brings them together, kissing him passionately. He runs his hands up and down his back, through his hair, holding on tightly and molding them together. "I want you so bad, fuck." James confesses hotly to Jesse's neck. Jesse's pushing his own groin into James, lust overwhelming him, as he feels himself nodding. 

James stands up and grabs his hand, leading them hurriedly to the bedroom. He shoves Jesse onto the bed, and Jesse falls willingly, and gazes up with hooded eyes as James climbs on top of him. 

James opens Jesse's pants, rubbing his cock through the fabric of his boxers. Jesse hums quietly, arching up into the contact. James pulls his shirt off over his head, and begins pulling off his own pants, and Jesse follows suit. He wiggles his way out of his clothes until he's naked, shy on the bed from the hot gaze of James above him. "Yo." Jesse whispers, as James rakes his eyes up and down his body. 

"Yo, yourself." He whispers back, smiling. James takes Jesse's thighs in his hands, spreads them open so he can settle between them. Their hard dicks touch and James moves them together and electricity sparks up Jesse's spine. He throws his head back and whines, James is teasing him with light kisses on his neck that contrast the steady rhythm he's setting with his hips. 

Jesse gets lost in the friction, the wet slide of their precum making him lax and feel safe in James' arms, until suddenly James is pulling away. He strains his neck as he watches James riffle through his bedside table, finally revealing a bottle of lube with a triumphant smile on his face. 

He climbs back between his open legs, and Jesse feels James' first, wet finger massaging his hole. James props himself up with one elbow, kissing Jesse's neck and whispering in his ear. "Fuck yeah, you're so fucking hot." and "Gonna make you scream." Jesse gulps, pants, moans lowly. 

"Relax, baby." 

Jesse takes a deep breath. James kisses him again, rubbing all around his genitals from his ass to his dick, fondling his balls. Jesse's so turned on, his hips undulating, seeking friction, as James sinks his fingers inside. Jesse lets out a sound of wonder, looking down his body. James adds more lube and sinks his middle finger in all the way, Jesse raising his hips up at the intrusion. 

Soon James starts massaging his inner walls, loosening him up. Jesse feels himself relaxing, and he grabs his own dick and starts stroking in time with James' finger fucking. 

Before he knows it, James adds another finger, and Jesse groans. "God, feels so fucking—full." 

James grins and curls his fingers, and Jesse shoots up with pleasure, "What the fuck!?" 

James pushes against his chest, holding him down, and jabs Jesse's prostate again and again, working him into a tizzy, until he's thrashing his head and pumping himself onto James' fingers. 

James pulls his fingers out, and lines his cock up with Jesse's slick hole. "Ready?" He asks. Jesse nods, eyes wide, as he pushes slowly inside. Their moans echo off of each other and James settles his hips against Jesse. "So tight, so good." James whispers. 

He begins to move, thrusting in and out of Jesse. Jess arches and whines, holding onto James' biceps for support as he plummets into him. His dick is trapped between their bodies and with every thrust it rubs against his stomach, sending him higher and higher until finally, James begins hitting his prostate with every thrust. Jesse clenches tightly and howls, spilling hot and wild against their stomachs, with James groaning loudly and following a few thrusts later. 

Panting, James settles on top of Jesse, smearing his cum everywhere. He slowly pulls out and Jesse feels empty at the loss, and cold, as James heads for the bathroom. He returns with damp cloth, and cleans Jesse tenderly. Jesse gazes, star struck, as James cleans himself off. 

"I think I love you." Jesse admits, quietly, into the night. 

James hums; he turns off the light. He slides in and pulls Jesse into his arms and onto his chest. Jesse sighs, bone tired and fucked-out aching in a good way.  


Adrenaline crash, orgasm, and James' heartbeat, quickly soothe Jesse to sleep. 

 

// 

 

The sunlight slowly wakes Jesse up to three things the next morning; a sore ass, a cold, empty bed, and a missing duffle bag.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so mean! D:  
> I think this is the end. Not how I originally intended, but these things have a way of, well, getting away from me! Hope you enjoyed, let me know what you think, and omg thank you for reading! :)


End file.
